


Keep Bending; Don't Break

by dreadmyquill



Series: Bend so Far [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Experimentation, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapped Peter Parker, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 102,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadmyquill/pseuds/dreadmyquill
Summary: Peter Parker has been kidnapped by HYDRA and doesn't know what to expect, especially after he is joined by super soldiers Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Peter hasn't encountered the rogue Avengers since the events of Civil War, and Tony Stark is still the only Avenger who knows Spider Man's secret identity. The three kidnapped heroes are quickly forced to learn to trust one another as a group of calculating HYDRA scientists begin a series of frightening and painful experiments on each of them. How long can they hold on in captivity? Will they be able to fight their way out? Will the other Avengers rescue them before the experiments have shattered them both mentally and physically? Only time will tell.
Series: Bend so Far [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170767
Comments: 296
Kudos: 822





	1. Chapter 1

Even drugged half out of his mind, and even though they weren’t in uniform, Peter still immediately recognized Captain America and Bucky Barnes the moment they were shoved into the sizable cell. He himself had arrived only an hour earlier, but since then he had been given three different injections that made the world spin and his legs feel like jelly. The room contained three plain cots that were aligned in a row, about three feet between each one, but nothing else. The cots were all covered in an identical white pillow and gray blanket. Peter was currently lying on the one furthest from the single metal door. It was the only cot with one side pressed against one of the white walls. He didn’t know what the walls and door were made out of, but had learned pretty quickly that he wasn’t able to so much as dent them. He had tried, repeatedly, before he’d received his first injection. 

The Winter Soldier let out a frustrated roar, slamming both fists into the door as it clanged shut behind them. Peter was impressed that not even his vibranium arm made an impression. In a moment, Captain America turned around to take in their surroundings, and his blue eyes widened in surprise. “Buck, we’re not alone.” 

Barnes swung around immediately, following the captain’s gaze to where Peter watched them. He’d made no attempt to even sit up on the cot. The pile of vomit on the shiny white floor served as a reminder of what had happened the last time he’d tried to rise. He raised one hand in a brief greeting before allowing it to fall limply back to his side. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey,” Captain America said, crossing the room to stand over the cot. He appeared larger than ever from Peter’s current position. “Who are you? Do you know what’s going on?” 

Peter reminded himself not to be annoyed. Sure, he’d met both super soldiers at the airport in Germany, but he didn’t exactly look a lot like Spider Man at the moment. “No idea,” he said, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Haven’t been here long.”

“How long is not long?” Barnes demanded, coming to stand beside his companion. His tone was a lot less contained than Captain America’s had been.

“Like...an hour maybe?”

“Why are we here?” Barnes said, still scowling.

“I dunno.”

“Well at least tell us who the hell you are!” He was shouting.

“Hey,” the captain’s voice was still measured as he took hold of his friend’s shoulders. “Calm down. He’s just a kid, and he’s clearly on something.” He released Barnes then, glancing toward the crook of Peter’s left elbow that was covered in three different Band-Aids. He met Peter’s eyes again, frowning slightly. “What did they give you?” 

“No idea,” he said. “Just makes everything...whoo,” he twirled one finger in the air as he made the sound effect. It was a ridiculous way to address any member of the Avengers, but he was having trouble coming up with a more eloquent description.

“Did it make you sick?” He glanced toward the vomit. 

“No. Well, yeah. It was my fault though. They told me not to sit up.” 

“Okay,” Captain America said, sounding suddenly determined. “Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here. You’ll be home by tonight.” 

Peter wanted to believe him, but he really doubted that. “How?”

The man grinned. “I’m Captain America, and this is Bucky Barnes. We’re both Avengers.” 

“I know.”

“You know?” Barnes sounded less angry, but his eyes were still flashing dangerously around the cell. “And you still doubt we’ll get out?”

“They got you in,” Peter reminded. 

He wondered if his kidnappers had captured the two Avengers the same way they had gotten him. He was still a little surprised they had managed to control him so easily. He’d been attacked on his way home from school. His spidey sense had warned him, but he’d detected the source of the threat a second too late. A metal bracelet had flown out of nowhere, attaching itself to his wrist and sending a sudden jolt through his arms and legs that paralyzed them instantly. Three men in black jackets had then arrived, blindfolding him and shoving him into what had to be a vehicle before anyone even noticed. The paralysis only lasted a few minutes, but every time he’d tried to fight back he’d been shocked again. He’d stopped trying after the sixth attempt, and they only removed the blindfold once he was inside a spacious facility with a lot of sterile hallways and closed doors. They eventually pushed him into his current cell, and the bracelet was still on his right wrist. It was hard, black, and impossible to remove or break. He’d tried. He noticed similar bracelets on both the soldiers in front of him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Captain America said, following Peter’s gaze briefly to the bracelet. “When they injected you, did they come into the room?”

“Yeah.” They’d had to paralyze him again the first time. After that, he’d just let it happen.

“Then chances are they’ll be back. We just have to wait for the door to open.”

Peter knew it wouldn’t work. He was actually kind of surprised that they thought it might, but he didn’t want to argue. He felt like he was spinning, and his head was starting to hurt from the effort it took to follow a conversation. He closed his eyes. 

“Kid?” 

“Not a kid,” he mumbled.

“Then what’s your name?”

“Peter.” His sluggish reply came without thought, but it’s not like it really mattered if the Avengers knew his first name. 

“Okay, Peter. You alright?”

“Just resting.”

“Let him,” he heard Barnes say. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do anyway.”

Peter listened to the footsteps of his two heroes crossing the room, and then to the beginnings of whispered conversation. With his hearing being what it was, he could easily have made out their words if he wanted to, but he didn’t feel like trying to focus. Though he didn’t have much hope for it, he wished they would come up with a plan that would get them all out of there. They were Avengers after all. Maybe it could happen. That was his last thought before succumbing to a drug-induced sleep.

___

When Peter next woke, it was to the sound of an incredibly brief scuffle. He opened his eyes to see two men in lab coats. Only one of them was familiar. It was the same tall man with a black mustache who had given him all of his injections. The other man was shorter, with brown hair and glasses. They were standing over Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Both men were on the ground, arms and legs frozen. The captain was glaring silently, but Barnes was letting out an impressive selection of swear words. 

“Haven’t you tried that enough times already?” Black Mustache said, crouching down to extend Barnes' right arm. He gave him a quick injection as the man continued to cuss and insult him, covering it quickly with a Band-Aid before standing. The man with glasses repeated the process on Captain America. As they were working, Peter pushed himself up on the cot, realizing his head felt slightly clearer. He glanced toward the open door, and was contemplating giving it a try when Black Mustache turned to him. 

“Stay put,” he warned. “Or you know what will happen.”

Peter listened. It would be stupid not to. Black Mustache and Glasses lifted the two soldiers onto the empty cots before walking to stand beside Peter. “Lie down.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

Black Mustache gave a meaningful glance to the bracelet before repeating himself. “Lie down.” Peter did, feeling his heart speed up and hating how he kept doing exactly what they asked. Black Mustache stayed beside him while Glasses left the room, returning seconds later with a rolling, metal cart. Both men placed the used syringes in an empty dish on the surface of the cart, pulled on rubber gloves, and stared down at Peter. 

“Hey!” Captain America suddenly shouted from the cot nearest Peter. His arms and legs were still useless, but he had turned his head to watch them. “Get away from him. You need to do something, you do it to me.” 

“Oh, we will,” Black Mustache said. “But later.” He turned his attention back to Peter, pulling a fresh syringe from the cart and doing a quick blood draw, which he handed to Glasses. It pinched, but it really wasn’t that bad. What bothered him most was that they were certainly going to test his blood. He was sure they already knew he was Spider Man, because why else would he be there, but he’d gone out of his way to avoid doctors and hospitals since the spider bite. He hated that they had his blood.

“Turn onto your side, facing the wall.” Peter obeyed, relieved that he didn’t have to face the Avengers. They’d gone quiet for the moment, but he didn’t want to look at them while the two men did whatever it was they were planning. He was surprised when the lightning shot suddenly through his arms and legs, making him gasp as the limbs froze up. 

“I did what you said!” he exclaimed indignantly. 

“You did,” Black Mustache told him. “But it’s important that you’re still for this.” 

“For what?” Neither of the men answered, and he heard the rattling of instruments on the cart. His t-shirt was pulled up to his ribs, and his jeans and boxers lowered to just below his hips. A thick sheet of paper was tucked beneath him before he felt something slick and cold spreading along his lower back. He began to panic, breathing hard, he had no idea what was happening. 

“Peter, you’re okay. It’s an ultrasound.” He was so grateful for Captain America’s words. Not knowing what was going on made everything truly scary. He stared at the white wall, trying to calm his breathing for several minutes while the probe on his back slid across his skin. He tensed again when it disappeared, and he felt something smaller and very cold press against his back. It felt suspiciously like a…

“Gah! Warning!” he cried, feeling the scalpel cut an inch long slice near the bottom of his spine. 

“That’s nothing,” Black Mustache said. “Take some breaths, because this next part is where it gets bad.” 

“Why? What is it? Please just tell me what you’re doing!” The scalpel had disappeared, but another small, cold object had replaced it, hovering just over the incision.

“Don’t!” He was having trouble breathing, certain his heart was trying to escape his chest. “Please! What is that?”

“Aren’t you going to numb him first?” Captain America’s angry voice demanded, but he was ignored. Peter didn’t have the breath to tell him that numbing agents wouldn’t work on him, and the next moment he was screaming anyway. A long, thin object was twisting into the cut the scalpel had made, deeper, deeper, deeper, until he was sure it was embedded in his bone. Only then did Black Mustache still.

“Calm down,” he said. “This will only take a few more minutes.” 

The man was telling the truth, but it was hell. The object twisted back and forth several times, and he felt something being pulled from deep inside his body. He ended up squeezing his eyes shut, and biting his tongue until he tasted blood. He tried not to scream anymore, but a few more cries escaped him before they finally finished whatever it was they were doing. The object was removed, and they taped gauze over the incision before turning him onto his back. He still couldn’t move, and he felt sweat (and oh gosh, were those tears?!) running down his face and neck.

“Good job,” Black Mustache said. “You’re done until tomorrow.” 

“Fuck you.” Peter seldom cursed. He could almost feel Aunt May’s slap against the back of his head, but he didn’t care. Neither of the men commented, and Peter watched them remove the bloody sheet from beneath him and adjust several blood-filled syringes on the cart before they left, closing the door behind them. 

“Peter? Son? Peter, you okay?”

Captain America sounded worried, but Peter really didn’t want to face him at the moment. He stared at the ceiling instead, trying to ignore the deep, stabbing pain in his back, and worse, the pain of having screamed and cried like a child in front of two of the Avengers.

“I’m good,” he finally said, hating that his voice wasn’t entirely steady. He realized he was still panting. 

“You are tough as nails,” Barnes spoke for the first time in a while. 

“I don’t...what did they…?” He was still staring at the ceiling, and he felt almost afraid of the answer, even though whatever it was had already happened.

“They took some of your bone marrow,” Barnes said. “I’ve had it done. Hurts like a mother. Ah, finally!” Peter heard the cot creaking. “Steve, you moving yet?” 

“Nearly. My fingers are tingling like crazy.”

Peter heard footsteps that sounded slightly unsteady before the Winter Soldier was kneeling beside his cot. “Sorry you had to go through that. It’ll be sore for a while, but you’re okay. Try to slow your breathing down.” 

“It’s fine,” Peter said. “You don’t have to…” 

“I do.” 

“We do.” Captain America had apparently also regained the use of his limbs, because in a moment he was crouched beside Barnes. “We’re Avengers, and you’re a civilian, not to mention a kid. Oh wait, I’m not supposed to call you that.” 

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, wondering if Captain America was trying to make a joke. He couldn’t tell without looking at his expression, but he still didn’t want to. “I’m not,” he said. 

“Fine, not a kid. Teenager work better for you?” 

That wasn’t what Peter had meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain that he wasn’t a civilian either. His heart rate and panting were evening out, and he could finally move his arms and legs again. Even though it hurt, he pulled himself into a sitting position, readjusting his shirt and pants and leaning against the cold wall for support. He felt lightheaded, but he was still clearer than he had been after the drugs. “How long was I out?” he asked. “Before they…” 

“Close to an hour,” the captain supplied. “Why don’t you lie back down? That can’t be comfortable, and they just took a lot of your blood.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He finally got up the courage to look at the men beside him. He caught them exchanging glances, both frowning in concern. “Still think we’ll be home by tonight?” 

“Maybe not quite that soon,” Barnes said. “But we’ll figure something out.” 

“Who are these guys?” Peter had been wanting to know. Despite the fact that he had asked them repeatedly, his captors offered him almost no information. He hoped his heroes would have an answer.

Captain America sighed. “They’re from an organization called HYDRA. I’ve been fighting them...well pretty much forever. Since WWII. Bucky has been too. More recently they’ve been working on…” 

“Making new super soldiers and regaining technology obtained by Stark Industries, specifically the infinity…” He suddenly snapped his mouth shut when he saw the looks they were giving him. “Um. I, uh…” 

“How do you know that?” Barnes’ voice was low and serious. 

“Google? I mean, I uh, wrote a paper for school and chose the Avengers, so it just…” 

“That’s not something you can find on the internet.” Barnes was glaring at him, suddenly all suspicion. It was more than unsettling, but it’s not like Peter could just declare that Tony Stark had told him what kind of enemies he needed to avoid as Spider Man. His mentor had forbidden him from messing around anything concerning HYDRA. When he realized Peter had never heard of the organization, Mr. Stark had taken it upon himself to fill him in on the details.

“I have sources,” he tried.

“What sources?” Barnes growled.

“I...I...I intern at SI,” he finally spit out the excuse that always worked with Aunt May and his teachers. He was frustrated that it took him so long to come up with it, but his brain definitely wasn’t all there at the moment.

“That still doesn’t explain why…”

“Bucky,” Captain America finally interrupted. “Cut him some slack. He’s already been through a lot.” His words were comforting, but Peter didn’t miss the distrust that had appeared in his eyes. Great. “I would like to know what you do at Stark Industries, though. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Tony and I don’t just protect the world together. We’re actually friends.” 

That was debatable. Though they’d mostly recovered from the whole rouge Avengers incident, Peter knew the team was still fractured. Tony always sounded sad when he talked about Captain America, and he made no secret as to how he felt about the Winter Soldier. However, Peter knew that saying any of that would only get him in deeper. He decided to answer somewhat honestly. 

“I work on tech upgrades. Sometimes drones, but mostly on Mr. Stark’s suits.” In truth, it was usually his own suit he was working on, but they didn’t need to know that. 

Captain America raised his eyebrows. “You work on Tony Stark’s suits? I hope by that you mean you tailor his conference attire.”

Peter bowed his head. What the heck was he supposed to say here? He still felt like he was being interrogated. Barnes hadn’t stopped glaring at him. “I’m just really good at science, okay?” 

“We’re not attacking you,” Captain America said, even though Peter was pretty sure that was exactly what they were doing. “We’re just trying to understand. Do you have any idea why HYDRA would be interested in abducting you?” 

He was able to answer honestly again. Of course it had something to do with Spider Man, but he couldn’t fathom what. “No.”

He could feel another question coming, but before it did they were interrupted by a slot sliding open at the bottom of the door. A plastic tray of food was shoved into the room, followed by a pitcher of orange liquid and three plastic cups. The slot snapped shut again without a word from their captors. “Oh, thank you,” Peter muttered under his breath. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, having skipped lunch at school in order to help Ned study for a test. He knew it had to be at least early evening by now, and his stomach was letting him know. With his heightened metabolism, his appetite pestered him every time he went more than two hours without a snack.

He crawled to the foot of the cot, wincing at his protesting back. It cramped all the way from the incision point to the bottom of his left thigh, but he did his best to ignore it. He knew the meal would go a long way in helping his enhanced healing. He only hoped he didn’t look too much like a spider as he crept to the food tray on all fours. When he got there he sat leaning against the door. He quickly filled one of the cups with what appeared to be orange juice. 

“That might not be a good idea,” Captain America warned when the cup was halfway to his mouth. 

“Why?” 

“It’s probably drugged.”

Peter shrugged. “They’ve been drugging me all day.” He took a large gulp of the juice. It was room temperature, and had obviously come from a can, but it removed the dryness from his mouth and was filled with sugar. At the moment, he wasn’t looking for much else. He drained the cup before turning his attention to the tray. It contained three wheat bread sandwiches, each with one slice of cheese and a piece of pinkish mystery meat. Peter inhaled his in three bites. His stomach grumbled for more, but he wasn’t going to be greedy when that’s all they’d been given.

“It’s a little dry,” he told them. “But I don’t think it’s drugged.” He actually felt a tad better. His head was slightly clearer, though some of the dizziness continued to linger. He was still in fairly bad pain, so when the Avengers didn’t answer he laid down on the floor. He rested on his stomach, head turned to the side. He hoped his healing would kick in soon.

“Here.” Captain America appeared beside him, pillow in hand. He tucked it under Peter’s head before sitting on the ground beside him. In a moment Barnes followed, and they both picked at the food a lot less ravenously than Peter had. No one spoke again until the tray and pitcher were empty, and Barnes began banging his braceleted real arm against the ground.

“I did that for like half an hour,” Peter said from his position on the floor. “It must be vibranium or something. It doesn’t obey the laws of physics at all.” At those words, Captain America gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. Peter was startled. “What? What did I say?”

“Queens?” 

“What!” Peter sat up suddenly, cringing again at the sensation in his back. 

“The airport,” Captain America said, smacking himself in the forehead. “That makes so much sense now.” 

Peter was panicking. How had he figured it out? He wasn’t ready for them to know about Spider Man. Almost nobody knew, and he liked it that way. What if they held a grudge? He hadn’t been on their side in Germany. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What airport?”

“It’s okay,” the captain said. “It’s actually good. I couldn’t figure out what HYDRA would want with a random SI intern.” 

“I’m not following, Steve,” Barnes said.

“He’s that spider kid that Stark brought to Germany.” 

“The annoying webby fingers who talks too much?” 

Captain America laughed at the description at the same time Peter shook his head. “No. No. I’m not...I mean...who…?” Damn he was bad at lying. Why did he have to stutter when he was nervous?

“Laws of physics,” the captain said. “You said the same thing about my shield at the airport.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Chill out,” Barnes was finally looking at him again without anger and suspicion. At least that was a nice change. “That explains everything. Why didn’t you just tell us?”

Peter gave in. There was no point in lying anymore. He spoke to the floor. “We weren’t on the same side.” 

The Winter Soldier laughed. “So what? No one’s still worried about that. I thought you were undercover with HYDRA.” 

That was enough to make Peter jerk his head up. “Why?” 

“You were acting squirrely,” the captain admitted. “But now we can see why.”

“No one knows,” Peter said. “I mean, besides Mr. Stark and my best friend. I feel like these guys, HYDRA, probably figured it out, but I don’t know how. Seriously, nobody knows.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” Captain America said. “We both respect that you have a secret identity, but at least now we can better work together to get out of this.” 

Peter scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t even know why I’m in this.”

“That’s not important right now,” Barnes said, looking like he probably knew exactly why they were there. From the man’s nervous expression, Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore.

Their conversation was cut short when the door behind them was dragged open. They all three scrambled to back up before the bracelets could incapacitate them again. Two large men, each holding a rifle and dressed in black jackets, stood in the doorway. Peter didn’t recognize either of them.

“Bathroom,” one of the men barked. “One at a time.”

“Do we have a choice?” Barnes grumbled.

“Not unless you want to hold it till morning.”

“I’ll go,” Peter said, pushing himself upward. His bladder had actually been bothering him for a while. Standing ended up being way worse than sitting, and he found himself hunched forward, letting out a small, embarrassing noise of discomfort. Captain America was beside him instantly, loosely gripping his arm.

“Do you know what they did to him?” the captain demanded, glaring at the armed men.

“Don’t really care,” one of them said. “You coming or not, kid?”

“I’m coming.” Peter pulled his arm free and limped forward. Once he was in the hallway, the door was closed in the faces of the glaring super soldiers. The men situated themselves until Peter was between them, but at least they didn’t rush his pace as they walked. 

The bathroom wasn’t far, and similar to the cell, everything inside it was white and too bright. A row of toilet stalls lined one wall, and a row of showers the other. He was relieved to see the toilet stalls had doors, because the showers were open in the front, and separated only by chest high dividers. He was glad that right now he only had to pee. The guards waited outside the stall while he went, and then hovered behind him while he washed his hands. There were no mirrors in the bathroom, so he wasn’t able to check how drugged his eyes looked. He quickly splashed some cold water over his face before they walked him back to the cell. 

By the time he reached the door he was ready to crumple, and he must have looked it. After making it one foot inside, Captain America had his arm again. The man supported him to the bed and helped him lie down on his stomach, even retrieving the pillow Peter had left on the floor. “Thank you,” he mumbled. 

“Anyone else?” One of the guards asked impatiently. The Winter Soldier rolled his eyes, but followed the men out of the room. When he returned, Captain America went.

Peter didn’t know why, but he was feeling tired. Like, totally exhausted. He’d always been a bit of an insomniac, and even though there were no clocks or windows in the cell, he knew it must still be hours from his usual bedtime. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the fact that his spidey sense hadn’t stopped tingling down the back of his neck since he’d been taken off the street. All he knew for sure was that his eyes had already fallen closed by the time Captain America returned.

“It’s lights out in one minute,” they were told before the guards closed the door and left them alone again. That actually sounded pretty good to Peter. Even with his eyes closed, the room was way too bright for his heightened senses. His head had been hurting because of it for some time. 

“Queens?” He cracked one eye open. Captain America was beside him again. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

“You did lose a fair amount of blood. How’s your back?” 

“Hurts.” 

The captain frowned at that, but it was the last thing Peter saw before the room went suddenly black. Not dim. Black. 

“Damnit,” Barnes’ voice came from the direction of his cot. “Seriously?”

“Guess that’s what ‘lights out’ means,” Captain America muttered. “Is there anything either of us can do to make you more comfortable, Peter?”

“No, I’m good.” He closed his eye again. He couldn’t see anything anyway.

“You’re not good,” Barnes’ voice came. “These assholes took my marrow the last time they had me. I know how bad it hurts.”

“Seriously,” Peter said. “It’ll probably be fine by the morning. I heal fast.”

“Good to know you’re not just sticky,” Barnes said. “What else can you do?” 

They already knew he was Spider Man, so it would probably be okay to tell them more about his abilities, but at the moment he felt way too tired. He knew he should stay up, that he should be making plans with them and trying to get his bracelet off, but he didn’t think he was going to be able to stay awake. “Tell you later,” he mumbled.

Luckily no one pressed the issue, and he heard Captain America feeling his way to his own cot in the darkness. He listened to the two soldiers talking quietly. They were discussing their next course of action, deciding that there wasn’t much to be done in a pitch black cell while they were wearing the bracelets. They were making a plan for the morning, but Peter didn’t get to hear if they came up with anything doable before sleep dragged him under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers! Thank you guys so much for taking the time to check out my story! The kind comments you guys have been leaving mean more to me than you could ever know. So motivational! Thank you for that! :)

Peter snapped awake, heart already racing, when the incredibly bright lights illuminated the room without warning. He smacked both hands over his eyes, the sudden brightness throwing his heightened senses out of whack. It felt like an ice pick was pressing behind each of his eye sockets. He took several deep breaths, waiting for the overload to chill out a little, and listened to Barnes grumbling from his spot across the room.

“Peter, you okay?” It was Captain America’s voice. The man sounded tired, and Peter understood why. Though he had initially passed out quickly the previous night, sleep hadn’t lasted long. Every time he started to drift off, he’d gasp awake only minutes later, his spidey sense warning him of dangers he couldn’t do anything about. Both the soldiers had heard him every time, checking in to make sure he was alright. That had been enough to suggest that neither one of them was sleeping at all. 

“It’s so bright,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Barnes said. “HYDRA’s big on subtle discomforts. They like to make you paranoid without understanding why. It’ll probably always be too bright, too dark, too hot, or too cold in here. Wouldn’t be surprised if they added some annoying sounds after a while either.”

“Fantastic.” Peter made himself uncover his eyes, trying not to squint too hard as he pushed himself upright. His back protested a little, but he could tell his healing factor was already doing its job. It wasn’t really painful anymore; just uncomfortable. He looked at Barnes, who had moved to lean against the wall by the door, arms crossed. The soldier kept mentioning past experiences with HYDRA. Peter decided it was time to choke down his fears and ask why they were there.

“Uh, Mr. Barnes?”

The man let out a sudden, surprised laugh. “I hope that’s not seriously how you plan on addressing me. Bucky’s fine, kid.”

Okay, that was never not going to feel weird, but Peter would deal with that hurtle later. “Sorry, just, do you know why we’re here?” 

All amusement immediately left the soldier’s face. “I think I probably do, but I’m not going to say anything about it until I’m sure.”

Peter only halfway wanted to argue. He seemed to be on Bucky and Captain America’s good sides ever since they’d figured out he was Spider Man. He didn’t want to jeopardize that by being pushy. Before he could figure out what else to say, the door opened, revealing the same two guards from the previous night.

“Bathroom. Who’s first?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at them. “Hello again, boys! Who’d you piss off to get stuck with shit duty?” Peter was about to laugh, but the noise dried up in his throat when Bucky gasped and collapsed to the ground. Peter still hadn’t figured out what activated the bracelets. Neither of the guards had moved, and yet Bucky had been shocked for insulting them.

“Okay,” one of the guards spoke as Captain America crouched beside his friend, glaring up at them. “So now we know who’s going to be holding it till tonight. Anyone else?”

“I’ll go,” Peter grumbled, standing from the cot and walking to the door. The process from the previous night repeated itself, and he was back in the cell within a few minutes. He realized that while he was gone Captain America had gotten Bucky back onto his cot, and that someone had been in to clear away the dishes and his vomit from the previous day. He moved to hover awkwardly beside Bucky as the captain followed the guards out of the room. The soldier gave him a forced smile. 

“Guess I’ll wait until after I’ve peed to insult them next time.” 

“I’m nice and empty. Want me to give it a go when they get back?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You cracking jokes right now?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m hardly ever serious. You caught me in a rare mood yesterday.” 

“You know, drugs and a forced minor surgery can do that to a guy.”

“I’ll have to work on it. Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky said. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I get myself shocked. In the meantime you can keep me from getting bored.”

“You mean because there’s so much to do in here for those of us who aren’t currently paralyzed?” 

Bucky gave him a grin. “You were a smart ass in Germany too. It’s all coming back to me now.” 

“Meh, I’ve been called worse.”

“I meant that as a compliment. Now tell me more about yourself, about the whole spider thing. You promised you would last night.” 

“And you promised I’d be home last night,” Peter pointed out. 

“Technically that was Steve, but it looks like he was a little off on that one, sorry. Are you really not going to tell me because of that?” 

Peter glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “I just...are they watching us? Listening?” 

“Not in here,” he said. “Remember when you conked out right after we got here? Steve and I checked the room. They apparently don’t care what we do in our free time.” 

“Are you sure? I wasn’t kidding when I said nobody knows. I don’t talk about it.” 

Bucky was about to answer when the door opened once more. They expected Captain America with the guards who had taken him, but instead saw Black Mustache. Peter had to make a conscious effort not to cringe away, still highly aware of the stab wound on his back. The man gave him a thin smile.

“Good morning, Peter. I need you to come with me.”

He really shouldn’t have been surprised that the man knew his name, but it was the first time any of his captors had spoken it. He backed up a step, feeling the backs of his legs press against the edge of Bucky’s cot. “Why? Where are we going? Is it to the movies?” He jumped immediately into his favorite defense mechanism. Humor and sarcasm. He’d been too drugged the previous day to show it off.

“Hilarious,” Black Mustache said. “Let’s go.”

“Can we go later? Evening showings are so much better than matinees. Actually, if I’m being choosy, I’d also prefer to bring a girl. No offense, but you’re not really my type.” The words spilled from his mouth without thought. He knew he was talking too fast, but felt satisfied when he heard Bucky snort from behind him.

“You can make this difficult if you want to,” the man said. “But I promise the end result will be the same. It’s just a matter of whether you want to walk with me, or be dragged along immobile.”

“Fine,” Peter huffed, crossing his arms to hide that his hands were shaking. “But you’re buying the popcorn.”

He walked to the door, but glanced back to Bucky when he spoke. He hadn’t yet regained the use of his limbs, but his expression was one of barely contained fury. He stared at Peter hard. “You’ve got this, Peter. Whatever they do, anything that happens, it’s temporary. I promise.” 

If his words were meant to be reassuring, they weren’t. Bucky clearly knew something, and if Peter had any previous misgivings that something bad wasn’t about to happen to him, they’d just been swiped away. Black Mustache placed a hand on his shoulder, leading him out into the hall, closing the door again behind them. Peter didn’t have any desire to be shocked again, so he allowed the man to lead him down several long, turning hallways. He glanced around for an exit, or even a window, but found nothing but sterile walls and closed, identical doors. They eventually stopped in front of a door that Peter was unable to differentiate from any of the others. Black Mustache swiped a key card before turning the handle and leading Peter inside. He backed up immediately at the sight in front of him, but only ended up bumping against Black Mustache’s chest. The door had already sealed behind them.

The room was wide, and every bit as overly bright as his cell. The floor was smooth, black, and shiny, and the walls and ceiling were white. Inside the room stood Glasses, and two additional people in lab coats that he hadn’t seen before. One was an older man with white hair and a burgundy turtleneck under his coat, and the other was a heavyset woman that looked around the same age as Aunt May. She had frizzy blonde hair and thick, black spectacles. There was one other man in the room, but instead of a lab coat, he was wearing an expensive looking black suit with a gold tie. This man was probably in his late forties or early fifties. His hair was red and neatly trimmed, combed and glossy without a hair out of place. His skin was the palest Peter had ever seen, and clashed dangerously with his sharp, green eyes. Eyes that were staring directly at Peter. 

“Simmons,” the suited man addressed Black Mustache, who apparently did have a name after all. “Get him into position.” 

At those words, Peter dug his heels into the ground, because right in the center of the room was a metal table that was adorned with way too many sturdy-looking restraints. He could only assume they were made from vibranium, but he really really didn’t want to find out for sure. Surrounding the table was a selection of, currently blank, monitors and machines, in addition to five or six rolling carts that all had a variety of medical instruments resting on their surfaces. His spidey sense was yelling at him to, ‘Get away!,’ but he didn’t need it to know that’s exactly what he wanted to do. 

“Come on,” Simmons said, gripping Peter’s arm. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.” With the ever-present threat of the bracelet on his wrist, Peter forced himself to swallow down his panic and allow the man to lead him to the center of the room. He pushed him down until he was sitting on the table, legs dangling over the edge.

“Hey!” he couldn’t help the protest, and crossed his arms over his chest when Simmons reached for his t-shirt.

“Stop,” the man warned. “Arms up.”

“What are you doing?”

“Arms. Up,” he growled under his breath, punctuating each word.

“Problem, Simmons?” The suited man asked calmly. “I would truly prefer not to have him paralyzed at the moment. The electrical currents could interfere with the procedure.” 

That was news Peter could work with. He didn’t hesitate to throw his arm out at Simmons, the heel of his palm connecting with the man’s face and leaving behind a satisfying crunch. The man cried out, and Peter got a brief look at the blood pooling from both nostrils, straight into his stupid mustache, before he was on his feet. He was at the door in seconds, twisting the handle and finding it locked. He was able to punch it two times, neither of which did anything, before he felt the room’s occupants moving in behind him. He scuttled up the wall and onto the ceiling, hanging upside down and watching the people moving below him. The lab coats looked worried, but strangely enough the suited man was unrattled. He hadn’t so much as shifted from his spot beside the table. 

“Peter, is it?” the man asked when they made eye contact, calmly, as if he wasn’t looking at a teenager who was currently defying gravity. “Peter Parker?” 

“Funny,” Peter said. “You know my name, but I don’t remember us being introduced. Guess I’ll just have to come up with something on my own. Does Red work for you, or is that a bit too on the nose? Or how about Jade, because, you know, the creepy eyes? Am I close?”

The man ignored the quips entirely. He didn’t even look a little annoyed. “My name is Professor Dalton Fields.”

“Dolton?” Peter said, even though they both knew he had heard the words perfectly. “As in a dolt, a dimwit, an idiot, a boob?” His eyes danced around the room as he rambled, looking for a way out, or at least a suitable weapon.

“Addressing me as Professor Fields will do just fine.” 

“Nah, I’m stickin’ with Dolt. Suits you better. Prof Dolt. Nice and snappy.”

“I assure you that your current theatrics and attempts at distraction will get you nowhere. I can only assume this display has come from my comment that I need you without any lingering effects of electricity in your body. What you fail to understand is that I also have some tests for Captain America and the Winter Soldier. I would prefer to begin with you, but if necessary I will activate your bracelet, strap you to this table, and leave you there until I am ready to resume tomorrow. In the meantime, I will work with one of your companions instead.”

Peter felt his stomach drop. He was no closer to getting out of the room, and though he had been willing to risk a shock, had actually been expecting a shock, he hadn’t considered that the super soldiers would be threatened. He trusted them both to hold their own, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for either of them taking his place. He only hesitated a second before dropping from the ceiling and landing on his feet in front of Fields. Inside he was panicking, but he didn’t let it show on his face.

“Good choice,” Fields said. “Now please sit on the table and remove your shirt.” 

“Why?”

“No,” the word was soft, but abrupt, making him seem dangerous. “You do not ask questions in this room. You have three seconds before you get shocked.” 

“But…” 

“Three.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut, scooting onto the table and pulling his t-shirt over his head. He held the garment in his lap, fiddling with the fabric. Glasses and the woman approached him next, standing on either side of the table. The shirt was jerked from his fingers and tossed onto one of the carts. The woman moved behind him briefly, pulling away the gauze from the previous day and jotting down some quick notes on a clipboard. He was no longer bleeding, so she discarded the bandage and gave Fields a nod. 

“Proceed,” the professor said. 

Glasses listened immediately, turning his attention to Peter. “Lie down.” It took every ounce of Peter’s willpower to obey, or so he thought. He had to dig up even more when the pair began to secure him to the table. They first locked metal straps over his wrists, elbows, and biceps before unlatching the armrests from the table and swinging them outward. When Peter’s arms were spread at his sides, the armrests were secured in the new position. A few practice jerks confirmed what Peter had already feared; the table and restraints were made of vibranium. He felt his banging heart speed up even more when additional straps were locked across his ankles, knees, thighs, and hips.

He was shifting his head, staring frantically around the room, when a pair of hands slammed roughly against either side of his head, yanking his face upward. He had the privilege of meeting Simmons' seething gaze. The man’s nose was clearly broken, his chin and lab coat covered in streaks of blood. He had wadded pieces of tissue into both nostrils, and he wasn’t gentle as he latched more restraints tightly across Peter’s shoulders, neck, and forehead, leaving him completely immobile. Only then did Fields appear above him, standing deliberately in his line of vision.

“Calm down, Peter. I don’t need you hyperventilating.” 

“I’m not!” he spat, even though his breaths had sped up significantly. 

“Then that’s good news, because what you are about to experience will be exceedingly unpleasant. First, I want you to understand that it is not my intention to torture you. The substances injected into your bloodstream yesterday were to test your metabolism and how it affects your responses to anesthetics and pain blocking medications. Any one of yesterday’s doses would have knocked out a full grown bodybuilder, but you barely registered them. Your body rejected the drugs, causing you to vomit rather than pass out, and when you did eventually sleep it was a rest from which you were easily awakened. It is only for these reasons that you will remain conscious for the following procedure.” 

“Or we could just skip it altogether. Maybe grab some brunch instead?” He had to force the calm into his voice. Inside, he was panicking. Fields ignored the comment.

“Judging from how well you’ve already healed from yesterday’s marrow harvest, I suspect you’ll recover nicely from this as well. Browning.” At the word, Peter could see the older man approach from the corner of his eye, and he had something shiny in his now-gloved hand.

Fields stepped outside his range of vision, and Peter, unable to move his head or neck, strained his eyes to watch what was happening. He couldn’t see much, but felt one firm and cold hand press into the center of his chest before a searing pain dug suddenly into his torso, beginning an inch or so beneath his left nipple and dragging horizontally across the left side of his rib cage, all the way across his side until it nearly reached his back. Peter gasped loudly before pressing his lips together, refusing to utter any more noise. In a moment the pain lessened, and Peter was able to make out the woman reaching out a gloved hand to take a bloody scalpel from Browning. He stopped breathing for a moment when she, in return, handed the man a pair of scissors.

“No, no, no, no, no,” the pleading words left his mouth without thought, but they did no good. In another moment all Peter could do was stare at the ceiling and scream. The scissors were not gentle as they dug deeply into his flesh, widening the wound until he could actually feel them scraping against the bone of his ribs. Several long minutes passed before he felt the scissors withdraw. He tried hard to see how much damage had been done. He could feel hot blood running quickly down his torso, and he could see Glasses and the woman on either side of Browning, thick sections of gauze appearing in their hands before dipping below his line of sight. He failed to actually see the wound, but it felt huge.

He was shaking. Hard. He could feel his arms and legs rattling beneath the restraints that still refused to budge. This was awful. This was so much worse than anything he had anticipated. Much worse than anything he had ever felt on patrol. He saw a large, unfamiliar object handed to Browning next, and he just about lost it. He couldn’t take anymore yet. 

“Wait!” he gasped the word. “Please, just wait. Just give me a second! Please!” He was surprised when Browning actually hesitated.

“What is it, Peter?” He still couldn’t see Fields, but the voice was calm. He must have motioned for the procedure to be halted. 

“Please, stop.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Peter, but you’re handling this well. Just keep breathing.”

“Please, what are you doing? Just tell me what you’re doing!” He knew his words were choked and desperate, but he couldn’t help it. He hurt, and he was terrified. His plea was followed by an awful silence, but in a moment Simmons appeared at his right side. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose, immediately pumping cool air into his lungs.

“We have to keep going before you begin to heal,” Fields said. “This will all be over soon.” 

Peter had no words. He was trapped. They were going to keep hurting him as long as they wanted, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He shrieked again the moment he felt something cold press up against the edges of the wound, pushing deeper into his body until it was between two of his ribs. A small cranking noise then began, and Peter could actually feel two of his ribs spreading slowly apart. They were using a rib spreader. They were opening his chest while he was awake, and it was horrific. His vision went white, even though his eyes were still wide open. His screams were endless and animalistic. He felt the muscles in his shoulders, wrists, and ankles straining as he pulled as hard as he could against the vibranium. He was aware of nothing but the pain. The complete and total agony pulsating from his ribs and taking up the entirety of his existence.

He wasn’t even aware when the spreader stopped cranking, when a flashlight was shined into his chest cavity and Fields stared inside in fascination. He didn’t know when he began vomiting, and the restraints were moved enough for his head to be turned to the side, the mask pulled back, and his airways cleared. He didn’t know he was sobbing through his screams. He just knew it needed to stop. It had to stop. He couldn’t take it. He was going to die. He was going to die, and he was going to be happy when he did. He was so far gone that he didn’t even register when everything went black. 

___

When Peter regained consciousness he immediately wished he hadn’t. Strangely enough, the first thing he noticed was that he was cold. As in frozen from the inside out, teeth chattering cold. He felt it before he even tried to open his eyes, his entire body shuttering from it. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, as sound came back to him in pieces. 

“...’kay…’pen your…’eel this? Feel this…’eter?”

“Mmm…’ark?” Speaking was more difficult than expected. He heard the words forming clearly in his brain, but they came out of his mouth like Silly Putty. Long and stretched. 

“Wh…’id he say?”

“I thin…’king for Tony. Peter?”

“Mmm...Mmm...Misser S’ark.” He didn’t know what was happening, he just knew he was uncomfortable, but wasn’t sure why. Mr. Stark would know. He would make it better. He always made it better when Peter was hurt or scared, and right now he was both.

“It’s okay, Peter. Tony’s not here, but Buck and I have got you. Can you open your eyes?” The words confused Peter. He was glad that he was finally hearing full sentences again, but the voice speaking to him was only a little familiar. He didn’t want that. He wanted what was safe. He wanted his mentor. 

“G...g...get…’sser Sss’k. ‘Mm cold.”

“Did he say he’s cold?” 

“Yeah, get him another blanket, would you?”

The next moment Peter felt a blanket being spread across his body, but it did almost nothing for the ice that was practically eating through his bones. He needed to get warm. He needed to snap out of his fog and figure out what was going on. He was preparing to open his eyes when a small voice whined at him from the back of his mind, ‘Don’t do it!’ He didn’t know if it was his spidey sense, his subconscious, or what, but he did understand that he needed to get a handle on the situation. He opened his eyes and slowly blinked away the fog, and then he was back.

He regretted it instantly. He should have listened to the warning in his head, because now he was back in the too bright cell. Captain America and Bucky were both hovering over him, their eyes brimming with worry. He became aware of a small hissing sound and saw an oxygen tank sitting beside his bed. He connected the dots and drew his right hand to his face, feeling a plastic mask covering his nose and mouth. The mush in his head was solidifying into coherent thought, and with it came the realization that he wasn’t just cold; he hurt. He felt like a truck was sitting on the left side of his torso, and like maybe an assortment of kitchen knives had been stabbed into that side of his chest before the truck was placed. It was awful. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t think he had the energy.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Captain America was squeezing his shoulder again, his voice much calmer than his eyes. It took Peter a moment to realize that he was whining, the noises long and filled with pain. He was also shivering hard enough to shake his cot. It was making everything hurt worse. He just wanted his body to be still, but at the moment he wasn’t in control of it.

“Stoooop,” the plea left his lips in a long moan.

“It’s over.” He felt the mattress dip as Bucky sat beside him on the cot, leaning over him until their faces were only inches apart. When he next spoke, his voice was firm. It wasn’t harsh, but commanding. “I need you to focus. Eyes on mine. Right now.” Peter obeyed without thinking, his eyes locking onto the blue pair above him. “That’s good,” Bucky said. “Now breathe. Shallow and even. I’ll do it with you.”

Bucky breathed in, and Peter did his best to mimic the action. He hadn’t even realized his breaths were sporadic and uneven until his focus was brought specifically to them. The problem was that each breath sent lava pooling into the left side of his chest. It had to be lava. Nothing else could possibly hurt like that. He was pretty sure he would have given up breathing altogether if the super soldier above him wasn’t staring so intently. As it was, he couldn’t argue. He drew in one shallow breath after another, whimpering a little on each exhale. Bucky continued to breathe with him, and Peter lost track of the minutes until the man finally leaned away again. It was only then that Peter realized his violent shivers had turned to a light trembling.

“Better?” Bucky asked. 

Nothing hurt any less, but he did feel more focused. He’d even gotten the pathetic noises under control. Peter managed a small nod. “Thanks.”

Hearing his confirmation, Bucky climbed off the cot to stand beside Captain America, giving Peter some space. “Is there anything either of us can do to help?” the captain asked after they had waited for Peter to take several more steadying breaths. 

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, wishing not for the first time that the lights weren’t so bright. When he opened them again the edges of his vision were still a little blurry, but he was mostly able to focus on the soldiers beside him. He reached up to remove the oxygen mask from his face, and Captain America was quick to assist him. He made himself speak once it was off. “I’m okay.” 

“Sorry, kid,” Bucky said. “But for some reason I’m finding that hard to believe.” Peter followed the man’s gaze to his left side. He hadn’t really wanted to look, and was relieved when he realized he was covered in two of the cell’s gray blankets. He could make out a slight bulge beneath the blankets, but that was all. 

“Was I…? When did I get back here?” He struggled to keep his words steady, even though he wasn’t entirely successful. As he slowly became more aware of himself, he was able to begin pushing his physical discomfort somewhere near the back of his mind. It continued prodding at him, desperate for attention, but he had already woken up a whimpering mess in front of two of his heroes. He didn’t need to seem even weaker than he already had. 

“Ten minutes, give or take.” Captain America backed up to the cot beside Peter’s as he spoke. He sat down, wincing sharply and hunching slightly forward. It was alarming, but he continued speaking as though nothing had happened. “You were gone for a couple hours before that.” 

Two hours. Peter figured he was probably awake for most of that, so his unconsciousness couldn’t have lasted terribly long. That was a relief. He hated the idea of Fields and his scientist buddies poking at him while he wasn’t aware of what was happening. However, he was completely in the dark about what had been going on with his companions while he was gone. Judging by Captain America’s current posture, it hadn’t been nothing. 

“What did they do to you guys?” 

Both soldiers looked surprised, but Bucky was the one to speak. “Shouldn’t we be asking you that?” 

Peter started to shrug, but froze immediately, letting out a sharp gasp when he felt the pull against his chest. “Crap.” 

“Just try and be still,” Captain America said, that pitying concern still etched all over his face. Peter was grateful that the Avengers cared, but it felt important that they saw him as strong. He was Spider Man, after all. He wasn’t a kid who needed coddling just because he was a little hurt and a little scared. (So maybe it was more than a little, and maybe he did wish Aunt May would run her fingers through his hair the way she did when he was sick or stressed. Maybe he did want Mr. Stark to build him up and tell him he was more capable than he realized, but none of that changed the fact that he needed to put on a cool front. He was with two Avengers. Two men he barely knew, but badly wanted to impress. He couldn’t be thinking like that.)

“Sorry. I’ll be fine soon. Super healing and all.” 

“Well until then, why don’t you lie tight and tell us what happened?” 

He decided to give in to Bucky’s request, forcing his voice to remain as steady and light as he could. “They took me to some freaky room with a vibranium table and restraints. No clue where they got the stuff, but that’s definitely what it was. They must have known they’d need it, because I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m strong. Like, super strong.” 

“I remember,” Captain America said. Right, the airport. 

“Well, yeah,” Peter said. “Still don’t know how they figured out I’m Spider Man, but I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore. So um, they took me to this creepy room, right? And it was filled with all these scientist people in lab coats who were all taking orders from this guy in a suit. He had red hair and these bright green eyes, and he called himself Professor Dalton Fields. I decided that was too long, so I’ve been calling him Prof. Dolt instead. He doesn’t seem to mind.” 

“Dalton Fields,” Captain America repeated the name, looking at Bucky. “Ring any bells?” 

“Never heard of the guy. You?” 

The captain shook his head. “Never. What happened in the room, Peter?” 

He took a deep breath, ignoring the screaming it brought to his chest. “I think it’s your turn.” They looked confused, so he elaborated. “I want to know what they did to you guys while I was gone.” 

“That doesn’t seem as pressing,” Bucky said. 

“Come on, I thought we were bonding! Learning to trust each other and all that.” Peter wondered if they knew his carefree tone and playful attitude were to cover up how hurt and terrified he actually was, but if they did they were kind enough not to call him on it. 

“Fine,” Bucky said. “If it’s that important to you. They pretty much just put us through the same crap they did to you yesterday. Just a lot of fun mystery injections that make you feel like hell. Steve was also lucky enough to receive today’s marrow harvest.” 

The captain let out a short huff at that. “Yeah, real lucky.” 

Well that definitely explained the wincing and posture. Peter, considering recent events, knew how much having bone marrow taken sucked, but he was more concerned about the injections. “Please tell me the drugs made you pass out.” 

“Why would we want them to succeed in knocking us out?” Bucky asked. “Isn’t that one of the perks of being enhanced?” 

“So that’s a no then?” 

“It mostly just made us both dizzy and unfocused for a while. I think Bucky eventually went under for a few minutes, but it didn’t last long. What’s this about? What do you know?” 

Peter hesitated, gnawing at his lip. He didn’t really want to tell them, but he knew they needed to be warned. “Dolt told me that the drugs they gave me yesterday were to see if they could make me sleep through...through whatever they’re going to do. He said the plan wasn’t to...to torture me, I guess, but since the drugs are no good…” He broke off from his stuttering explanation, cheeks red, and stared down at his blankets. “I was just hoping it would be different for you guys.” 

When Captain America spoke, his voice was quiet and coaxing. “I think it’s time for you to tell us what happened in that room.” 

As much as he didn’t want to accept it, Peter knew the man was right, and so he told them. He included his escape attempt, but left out the fact that the super soldiers had been used as leverage against him. He merely told them he had been shocked rather than willingly complying in order to protect them from taking his place. He also deliberately left out the parts about the screaming, begging, and tears. Avengers didn’t do those things, so he wasn’t going to admit that he had either. He told them the truth about everything else to the best of his memory. 

“They didn’t give me any drugs, but I guess I eventually passed out on my own. I woke up back here and...well you know the rest.” As he finished the story, he finally looked up from his blankets to meet their expressions. Bucky looked furious, fists clenched tightly at his sides, and Captain America just looked sad. 

“We have to kill them, Steve,” Bucky spoke through his teeth. “I wanted to before, but this,” he gestured to Peter. “He’s just a kid!” 

They kept calling him that, and Peter was getting tired of correcting them. He’d given up with Mr. Stark months ago, more or less accepting the title from his mentor. He was beginning to think he was going to have to do the same with the soldiers. He just hoped his age didn’t make him seem too terribly inept when it came to holding his own alongside the Avengers. 

“I’m okay,” Peter said. 

“I don’t care how super-powered you are, they hurt you!” Bucky began pacing, digging his fingers into his hair. “I expected them to run some tests. It’s freaking HYDRA, after all, but I never thought…” 

“Bucky,” Captain America attempted to calm him down. 

“No! They cut him open and used a rib spreader while he was awake!” 

“I know, I heard, but you need to relax. This isn’t going to solve anything.” Peter didn’t know how Captain America still sounded so calm. Bucky looked absolutely frightening, his eyes suddenly wild and shifting about the room as if they were surrounded by invisible threats. 

No one said anything again for a few minutes, and Bucky continued pacing, panting heavily, before finally letting out a long breath and sinking down to sit beside his friend. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. When he spoke, the anger was gone from his voice. “I’m sorry.” 

Captain America gripped his shoulder. “It’s fine. You’re back with HYDRA. All things considered I think you’re handling this remarkably well.” 

Bucky moved one hand to look at him. “Because I’m not a puddle on the floor?” 

“Because you have every reason to panic and shut down, but you haven’t. We’re going to get out of this, Buck.” 

“I know. I know we will, but what about him?” 

“Me?” Peter found his voice again. “I did mention I’m Spider Man, right? I can help with any plan we make.”

“Of course you can,” Captain America said. Peter hoped he meant it. “Now tell us what you saw on the way to the room where they took you. Doors, windows; anything that might lead to a way out. We’re going to escape this place.” 

“I’ll try, but I don’t think I saw much, Mr...uh...Captain Rogers, Sir.” 

The captain grinned. “Anything you can remember about the layout of this place would be helpful, and I’m pretty sure being kidnapped together puts us on a first name basis. Just call me Steve.” 

The Winter Soldier and Captain America were now Bucky and Steve. That felt a little too crazy to swallow, so Peter decided not to let himself think much about it. Instead he wracked his brain, telling them every detail he could about the identical hallways and doors. He didn’t see how it was going to help, but he prayed the soldiers would think of something he hadn’t. Either way, he was happy to have them on his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! It has never taken me this long to post a chapter. I'm so sorry, guys! Thanks for waiting so patiently! I will do everything in my power to post much faster in the future!

The rest of their second day in captivity was more or less uneventful. The pain in Peter’s chest remained pretty unbearable, but he managed not to let out any more embarrassing noises, which he considered a win. He didn’t feel up to so much as wiggling his toes, and the soldiers seemed to recognize that, choosing without discussion to sit together on the cot nearest his. Peter explained that he hadn’t seen any exits, and that each door he passed appeared to be locked with some manner of keypad. Given the little information they had, it was decided that they would start by trying to get out of the room. The bracelets made tackling their guards an impossibility, so they ended up with the (admittedly weak) plan to try and jam something in the door after the evening’s bathroom break. The hope was that if they kept the door from sealing, they could escape after lights out.

With no windows or clock, keeping track of time inside the cell was nearly impossible. They could only hope they were being kept on a consistent schedule, and were forced to assume it was early evening when their dinner was slid through a slot in the door. Steve and Bucky explained to Peter that they had been given breakfast after he had been taken that morning, but that they were apparently to receive no lunch. Bucky retrieved the tray and pitcher from the floor and carried it to Steve's cot, where he had finally given in and laid down to rest his back. However, he sat up again once dinner arrived, allowing his friend to sit beside him. 

"Looks tasty," Bucky said with fake enthusiasm. "We each get a pile of something that resembles meatloaf, and," he paused to sniff at the pitcher, which contained blue liquid this time. "Likely alien juice."

"Looks more like Kool-Aid to me," Peter said. "You're never supposed to drink the Kool-Aid."

Steve and Bucky both looked immediately alarmed. "They still make Kool-Aid? Why aren’t you supposed to drink it?" Steve demanded.

Peter was only confused for a second, and then immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead. "Sorry, sorry! Kool-Aid's fine. I was just making a bad cultural reference.” 

"So it's safe to drink?" Bucky still looked suspicious.

"It's totally safe. I mean, normally. We can't know if HYDRA drugged it or something, but I was just making a joke about something that happened a long time ago. Well, long for me. You guys were still..." He could feel himself turning red, but Steve took pity.

"It's fine. We missed a lot. Tony makes a sport of making references he knows I won't understand. At least this one was an accident." He shot him a grin, but Peter was still embarrassed. “You know, I actually grew up drinking this stuff. Did they change the recipe or something?”

Peter was surprised to learn that Kool-Aid had been around that long. “No, at least not that I know of. There was this crazy guy in the seventies who brainwashed a lot of people into drinking poison Kool-Aid, so it’s just kind of an expression now. Sorry. Bad joke.” 

“Yikes,” Steve said. “I guess there are some things I’m better off not knowing.” 

Bucky still looked largely confused, eyeballing the pitcher in his hand. “So where do we stand on drinking this?” 

“Drink it. It’s fine. I really regret saying anything.” 

They both chuckled a little at his obvious discomfort, but nothing else was said on the matter before Bucky filled three plastic cups with the blue liquid. He then passed Steve his plate and drink before looking at Peter, who had still made zero effort to move. “Do you think you can eat something?”

Honestly, he knew he already wasn’t being fed enough to keep up with his metabolism, and that skipping meals would only put a dent in all of his abilities. He hadn’t had any breakfast, and his stomach was panging with the reminder of that. He also realized he couldn’t afford to have his healing factor slowing down too much in this place. The problem was he had no idea how he was supposed to choke something down when he was still hurting so much. He just didn’t want to admit any of that to his heroes. “Maybe later.” 

Bucky frowned at that answer. “You’ve been through a lot today, and I don’t know how you’re handling it as well as you are. Either the spider thing is more incredible than I realized, or you’re a good actor with a ridiculously high pain tolerance.” He gave him a look that said exactly which one he thought it was. “Regardless, you need to refuel. You haven’t had anything today, and you’re going to get badly dehydrated if you don’t at least drink something.” 

Peter didn’t want to hold the man’s firm gaze, but Bucky wasn’t looking away. He finally found his voice. “I just...I don’t think I can move right now.” 

“I kind of figured as much. Will you let me help you?” 

Peter had thought that sitting up enough to take a drink sounded like the worst thing possible, but he realized he’d been wrong. Having one of the Avengers holding his cup like a toddler would be so much worse. He immediately shook his head, feeling his neck protest at the movement after being stiff the entire day. That, however, was nothing compared to the hurt that shot through his chest. He ignored the discomfort the best he could. “No. No, I’m good. I’ve got it.” 

Before either of the soldiers could move to stop him, Peter used his right arm to push himself up about a foot, using the pillow for support. It was only by biting his tongue until he tasted blood that he kept himself from whimpering against the pain that exploded through his torso. It was bad enough to make him nauseous, but he somehow managed not to vomit. Both soldiers jumped to their feet and hovered beside the bed, and Steve even gripped his arm in a loose hold. 

“Why did you do that?” Bucky demanded. “I was going to help you so you wouldn’t have to move so much!” 

“S...sorry,” he choked out the word from between his teeth. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were definitely watering from the pain. 

“Jeez, don’t apologize. I just didn’t mean for you to...you didn’t have to do that.” Bucky let out a sigh, looking deeply concerned. Peter hated that he had caused that. “Do you think you can drink this?” He held out one of the blue-filled cups. 

“Yeah.” He reached for the cup, and Bucky handed it to him reluctantly. Steve finally released his hold on his arm, but Peter could feel them exchanging glances again as he slowly drained the cup. Swallowing hurt, but tiny sips were manageable, and it did ease the dryness in his throat. 

“Want to try some food while you’re up?” Steve asked, taking the empty cup when he had finished. 

“Might as well.” 

He was handed a plate, and got down three bites of over-salted meatloaf before discomfort won out and he had to lie flat again. A small yelp escaped him at the change in position, and he snapped his eyes shut as much to block out the concerned expressions of his companions as to fight against the radiating pain. He knew the procedure hadn’t been easy on his body, but he was still pretty sure his healing factor should have been doing more by now than it had. 

“It’s okay,” he heard Steve’s voice somewhere near his ear, and felt the plate removed from his lap. “You did a good job. Just take it easy now.” 

He didn’t have any energy left to argue and insist that he was fine. He just prayed he’d forced enough nutrients into his body to kick his factor into gear, because there was no way he was going to be beaten down after only two days in this place. There was just no freaking way. Luckily, Steve and Bucky finally seemed to be picking up on how uncomfortable their worrying made him. They stayed nearby, letting him know they were there, but nothing else was said in terms of comfort. Instead, they talked softly about how they were going to jam the door, eventually deciding on a handful of meatloaf over the latching mechanism. It was a long shot, but it was agreed they had to try. 

As was true of the previous day, it was only a short time after they’d been served their dinner that the usual two guards showed up for bathroom duty. Since he’d lost his chance that morning, Bucky was more than prepared to go first. It was obvious that Peter would be skipping his turn, so Steve had been nominated to place the meatloaf in the door frame. He already had a subtle handful in his fist. 

“Thanks for trying this,” Peter whispered, opening his eyes once the guards had left with Bucky. Even though he couldn’t help, he had to at least watch what happened. 

Steve shot him a wink. “Fingers crossed.” 

Once they returned, Steve volunteered to go second. Bucky and Peter were silent as they watched him leave, the sticky meat hidden in his hand. It was only when the door opened for Steve’s return that the captain pretended to stumble, briefly grabbing the door for balance and placing the goo over the latch. “Sorry,” he said. “Sore back, and all.” In their impatience to get him back in the room, neither of the guards noticed what he had done. Instead, they looked to Peter. 

“You coming?” 

“Are you serious?” Bucky demanded before Peter could speak. “No, he’s not coming.” 

“Suit yourself. Lights in five.” 

All three of them held their breath as the men left, closing the door behind them. They didn’t seem to notice anything awry, and the door clicked shut as usual. They could only hope that the sticky meat had done something to keep the lock from engaging completely.

“Do you think it worked?” Bucky finally spoke after the guards had been gone a full minute. 

Steve approached the door. “Probably not, but…” he gave it a push. Nothing. 

He’d told himself not to get excited, but Peter still felt a rush of disappointment. Bucky just shrugged. “It was a long shot anyway.”

They all got quiet after that, and the soldiers both found their cots before the lights went out, pitching the room into the same total darkness as the previous night. Peter took shallow, steadying breaths, trying not to think too much about what the following day would bring. He was still grateful that Steve and Bucky were with him, but he had secretly been hoping for more from them than a handful of meatloaf smeared across the door frame. He knew it wasn’t their fault. The bracelets were limiting, and he hadn’t come up with anything better, but he had always assumed that the Avengers could get out of anything. It was disconcerting to see them floundering just as badly as he was, and it didn’t bode well for their future with HYDRA. 

___

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to, but between the previous night’s interrupted rest, the forced, agonizing surgery, and general stress of the situation, Peter actually ended up sleeping through the night. He hoped his companions also managed to get some rest before they were alerted to the morning by a terrible, high-pitched squealing noise, along with a sudden light that was bright enough to be painful for even a non-enhanced individual. Peter came awake with a cry, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut and smacking both hands over his ears. He could feel the brightness burning into his retinas even through his eyelids, and the squealing was so loud he could actually feel it in his back teeth. 

“Assholes!” Bucky shouted. It sounded like his teeth were clenched, and though Peter doubted the soldier’s senses were as fine-tuned as his, the awakening couldn’t have been pleasant for them either. 

The piercing sound lasted for at least five minutes; long enough to leave Peter squirming in discomfort. He ended up rolling onto his stomach and pulling the pillow over his head, realizing, gratefully, that at least his chest was hurting a lot less. Though the noise eventually stopped as quickly as it had started, the lights became no less blinding, and because of that Peter made no effort to roll over or move the pillow. The assault had sent his senses into complete overdrive, drowning him in overstimulation and causing a headache that was quickly working its way into migraine territory.

“That was pleasant,” Steve said, his description quite a bit more generous than the one Bucky had voiced (or the one Peter had been thinking). He heard the creaking of cots as both his companions got up. 

“I told you they’re big on this crap,” Bucky grumbled. 

Their footsteps approached his side. “You okay, Peter?” It was Steve. 

“Yeah,” he spoke into the mattress. “It’s just way too bright for me.” 

“It’d be bright for anyone,” Bucky said. “But it’s different for you, isn’t it?” 

“I can handle it.” 

Steve let out a puff of breath. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell us more about your abilities. We can’t help if we don’t know how this stuff is going to affect you.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. 

“You’re stubborn as all hell, aren’t you?” Bucky said. 

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of that.” He thought of the time Mr. Stark had thrown a wrench across his workshop upon learning Peter had sprained his wrist while testing out a new web formula. He may or may not have been specifically told to wait on trying it out until Mr. Stark was with him, but patience and following orders had never been two of his strongest areas. Much to the chagrin of his mentor. 

“How’s your chest?” Steve wisely changed the subject. 

“I think it’s better,” he answered honestly. There was still a deep ache every time he inhaled, but his healing factor seemed to have taken away the agony of the previous day. He was glad it was still working, even if it had become a tad slower than usual. 

Before anything else was said, the lights suddenly dimmed to the regular uncomfortable brightness in place of the blinding level they’d been all morning. Peter instantly felt the change, even through the pillow and his eyelids, and let out an audible sigh of relief. He heard the soldiers both make similar sounds of approval before he finally rolled over and cracked his eyes open. It took several seconds of blinking before he was able to see properly, and the headache was still there, but he knew it would only get better as long as the lights and volume stayed at their current levels. The reason for the change in lighting became evident a moment later when their bathroom chaperones opened the door. Heaven forbid they hurt their eyes while collecting the captives.

“Who’s first?” one of the men demanded immediately, grumpy without being provoked. 

Maybe it was the fact that they were all tired and annoyed from the rude awakening, or maybe they were already getting beaten down by their circumstances, but no one argued as they followed the, now familiar, routine of going one at a time to the bathroom. Peter opted to go last, standing gingerly from the cot and taking several practice laps around the room before it was his turn. Upon moving the blankets, and thanking Bucky for letting him borrow his the previous night, Peter had finally looked down at his chest. His shirt was still missing, and he had multiple layers of white bandaging wrapped around his torso. It was thickest where they had cut into his chest, and just looking at it made his stomach flip over. Part of him was curious to see if his healing factor had sealed the wound, but fear ultimately kept him from checking. He was still more than a little sore, and taking a deep breath was next to impossible, but he was glad he was able to move about. He was a little shaky on his feet, but he figured that had more to do with not eating properly than anything else.

After the guards ushered Peter back into the cell and closed the door behind him, he was surprised to see only Bucky. The man looked furious, sitting on his cot with his arms crossed. “They took Steve.” 

“Crap.” Peter crossed the room to sit on the cot nearest him, his mind already reeling. He hoped the captain wasn’t experiencing what he had yesterday, or even (he shuddered at the thought) something worse. 

“Steve’s tough enough to handle anything they dish out,” Bucky said. “And that same guy came back. The one with the mustache. He looked like he’d been recently hit in the face with a meat tenderizer. Was that you?”

Peter thought of Simmons and felt a small sense of satisfaction. “It might’ve been.” 

Bucky smirked. “Nice work. Can’t wait till I get a shot in.”

At that moment the door opened again, causing Peter to startle. He turned to watch a tall, skinny man enter the room with their breakfast tray, surprised that it hadn’t just been slid in through the usual slot. The man gave them an impatient order to stay where they were, eyeing their bracelets meaningfully, before setting the tray on the floor, gathering the dishes from the previous day, and leaving again with nothing more than a scowl. 

“He seemed polite,” Peter said once they were alone again. 

“You can always tell who’s lowest on HYDRA’s totem pole by the attitude.” Bucky climbed up and retrieved their meal. “They’re all awful, but it’s always the ones who don’t have any actual authority that act like the biggest jerks. You’ll see.” 

“Well good, I’m glad I know whose buttons I can push. I mean, I plan to try with everyone here, but this is good info. for the days I don’t feel like putting in the effort.” 

“Do you ever stop?” Bucky’s words were annoyed, but he was smiling as he handed Peter a bowl of dry-looking oatmeal and a glass of milk. The man glared at his own identical beverage. “I’d kill for a coffee.” 

“I’d kill for some sugar,” Peter said, choking down his first spoonful of the plain mush. “I think I’d even take raisins at this point, and I hate the things.” 

Bucky started on his own bowl. “It does leave something to be desired.” 

All complaints aside, it didn’t take either of them long to finish. The portion was maybe a third of what Peter would normally eat for breakfast, and he found himself worrying yet again about how weak he was going to get if the measly serving sizes continued. He wondered if he was alone in that, glancing at Bucky and working up the courage to speak. “You don’t have to answer this, but how do your enhancements work? I mean, I obviously know that you’re, like, super strong and fast and everything, but is there anything that could make you weaker?” 

“Okay, that’s kind of an unusual question, but let’s see. I’m mostly the same as Steve in that we can both take a beating, but if it’s hard enough we can get knocked down like anyone else. Is this about Steve? Are you concerned about what they’re doing to him?”

Peter, true to character, stumbled over his next words. It felt totally awkward to be speaking so candidly to Bucky Barnes. “No. I mean, yes, of course I’m worried about St...Captain America, but that’s not what I...it’s just...what’s your metabolism like?” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. “My metabolism?” 

Peter puffed out a breath. He was just going to have to spit it out. “Part of the whole spider thing is that I have this crazy fast metabolism, and because of it I have to eat kind of a lot. It’s completely fine as long as I keep up with it, but if I don’t…” He hoped Bucky would understand what he was trying to say without hearing the details. Admitting a weakness was hard enough without getting into how his healing factor might quit on him, or talking about the half dozen times he’d passed out in the early days after the bite. It had taken him a while to figure out just how drastically his caloric needs had increased. 

“Now I get it,” Bucky said, his voice filled with understanding. “You heal fast, so that makes sense. Steve and I are the same way.” 

“You are?” 

“I’m not going to claim to know exactly how fast you burn through calories, but I usually eat about twice as much as those who aren’t enhanced. Steve does too. Sound familiar?” 

Peter didn’t know what the exact ratios were, but he was pretty sure he usually ate more than twice what the other guys in his school did. Mr. Stark worried about it a lot, and had even gone through a phase of checking Peter’s sugar levels every day for a month after he’d keeled over in the lab on an evening they had worked through dinner. His mentor suspected his metabolism was especially demanding because he was still growing into adulthood. That, paired with his enhancements, made a proper diet a necessity. However, he didn’t want to admit that he probably needed to eat even more than the grown super soldiers. It seemed embarrassing somehow. 

“Yeah, that sounds right. I just noticed that they’re not really feeding us much, and I was wondering if that’s going to hurt you guys?” 

“We might lose some strength and heal a little slower than usual, but nothing too terrible. My stomach can grumble pretty loudly when I’m hungry though.” Bucky was clearly making an effort to lighten the situation. “Is it the same for you?” 

“Something like that.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

Peter no longer wanted to hold his gaze. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Whatever you say. For a minute there I thought you were about to be honest with me.” Bucky crossed his arms as he spoke, and Peter was taken aback. 

“What?” 

“I understand why you’re on the defensive, but you’ve got to know I’m on your side. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.” 

“I’m okay,” he insisted, hoping Bucky wasn’t too angry with him. He’d just never been the type to talk about himself. When it came to nervous, nerdy chatter about movies and trivia he was first in line, but speaking honestly about himself, and especially about anything that had to do with Spider Man, was a different thing entirely. It drove Mr. Stark crazy, and now he was doing the same thing to Steve and Bucky, but he couldn’t help it. It just wasn’t in him to be open the way they wanted him to. 

It had felt important to know if the super soldiers were going to be weakened from the insufficient amount of food, but that didn’t mean he was ready to tell them that he might require a fainting couch if the small meals kept up. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. His sudden awkwardness and quiet seemed to be rubbing off on Bucky, because they both stopped talking for a while and the soldier laid back on his cot, tugging at his bracelet for about the millionth time. Peter only watched him for a moment before crossing to the opposite side of the room, standing beside his cot and beginning to gently stretch out his muscles. It hurt when he made any movement that pulled at his chest, but loosening himself up seemed to be helping the headache that had been taking its time fading.

It was a nice excuse to move his body anyway. This was their third day in captivity, and Peter had never been good at sitting still. He’d been thrown out of more than one classroom for jittering in his chair, obsessively clicking his pens, or tapping his pencil against the desk, and that was in school where at least there was a lesson going on and a window to look out. Here there was no outlet for even his typical nervous energy, let alone the stress that came as a result of their situation. If HYDRA didn’t end up killing him with their tests and procedures, he figured there was a good chance he’d go insane just from being caged. The only solace came with the knowledge that Mr. Stark would be looking for him by now. Peter rarely went more than a day without at least texting his mentor, and if Peter’s silence hadn’t been enough to tip him off, May’s phone call definitely would have done it. She didn’t know he was Spider Man, but she was well aware that he interned with Mr. Stark at least a couple times a week. She definitely would have called when Peter didn’t come home. 

“We’re just lousy with visitors today, aren’t we?” Bucky said when their cell door opened again. Peter said nothing, putting all his effort into staying calm when he recognized the woman in the doorway. It was the same lady who had silently assisted in the previous day’s surgery, but now she spoke for the first time, her voice cool. 

“Barnes, will you be able to control yourself if I leave you where you are now?” 

He looked offended, but made no move to sit up. “Control myself?” 

“Yes,” her voice remained calm. “I must record how Mr. Parker is recovering from yesterday’s procedure, and I can’t allow you to interfere. I don’t care for shocking my patients, but I will if my safety or duties are threatened.” 

If possible, Peter felt his heart begin beating even faster. He definitely didn’t want this woman anywhere near him again. He could still perfectly envision the bloody instruments being passed between her gloved hands, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. He was contemplating catching Bucky’s eye and seeing what would happen if they charged her at the same time when, before he could act on it, his companion spoke again. “Do what you gotta. I won’t cause trouble.” 

Peter couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He felt betrayed. It wasn’t as if there was much Bucky could have done to defend him, but he had at least expected some amount of protesting. Bucky had already voiced his concerns about Peter withholding information, but he had still believed they were in this together. Even the woman seemed surprised by the soldier's easy cooperation. 

“That is a wise choice,” she said. “But just in case you’re planning something foolish, you should know that any attempt to attack me or approach the door will activate your bracelet. Even if my back is turned, you will be shocked. I advise you to stay exactly where you are in order to avoid any unpleasantness.” 

Bucky responded by shooting her a lazy thumbs up. “Message received.” 

The woman must have believed him, because she turned her attention to Peter. “Mr. Parker, I need you to go to your cot and lie down on your back.” 

“Oh, is that what you need?” he demanded, practically baring his teeth. Bucky may have given her exactly what she wanted, but he wasn’t about to do the same. He was terrified, but a large portion of the fear had turned to anger when Bucky had decided to leave him on his own. He didn’t know why the soldier’s actions had made him so furious, it’s not like they even knew each other very well, but he held onto the anger. It made him feel far more powerful than the fear. 

“Yes, if you please.” She was as calm as ever, despite the fact that Peter was shooting daggers at her and had balled his hands into fists. In fact, she turned her back on him and retrieved a metal, rolling cart from the hallway, pulling it up beside his cot before looking expectantly at him again. “Mr. Parker?” 

“I’m not doing shit!” He thought for sure that would get him a shock, but nothing happened at all. The woman didn’t even look the slightest bit alarmed.

“I understand your misgivings, but I assure you I am not here to cause you any avoidable discomfort.” 

He snorted angrily. “And what constitutes ‘avoidable?’” 

“Today I am only here to check on your healing. I will inspect your incision point, remove the stitches if I deem them no longer necessary, and re-wrap the wound if it is required. I will also be documenting any and all changes for later review. Depending on your level of healing, some of that might be uncomfortable.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

She gave him a slight frown; the first noticeable change in her even expression. “You know what will happen.” 

He remained rooted, glaring at her with as much hatred as he could muster for at least a full minute before walking to the cot and lying down. He decided that there was no way of avoiding whatever she was going to do to him, and that getting paralyzed from a shock wasn’t going to help. “I hope it looks disgusting,” he said as she approached his side. “I hope it’s nasty and that it makes you puke.” 

“I do not have a weak stomach, but I hope, for the sake of your health, that the wound is clean.” He watched as she reached toward the cart, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before lifting a pair of scissors. 

“No way! No way in hell!” He scuttled away from her, his body pressing into the wall beside the cot. He could feel his heart trying to beat its way up and out of his throat. In another second he was going to get violent. 

The woman watched his panic and immediately lowered the scissors to her side. “Relax. I’m not going to cut you. This is just for the gauze. Relax, Mr. Parker.” 

“Don’t you dare touch me with those!” 

“I promise I will not harm you. This isn’t like yesterday. They’re not even surgical scissors. Look.” 

Somehow, through his freak out, he managed to listen. He took a good look at the scissors and realized she was right. They were tiny, like the pair from Aunt May’s sewing kit, and nothing at all like the large, metal pair that had dug into his flesh the previous day. He was still breathing heavily, but he managed to give her a small nod and scoot over to lie on his back once more. At this point, he really just wanted the whole thing over with.

“Thank you, that’s much better.” She made quick work of cutting through the bandages and pulling them away, and, true to her word, the scissors came nowhere near his skin. He finally got his first look at the left side of his chest, taking in the ugly stitched wound and surrounding purple and black bruises. There was a little dried blood around the stitching, but honestly it didn’t look as bad as it could have. He wondered how much of that was because of his factor. 

“Is this for Dolt’s yearbook?” he asked when she laid down the scissors and produced a camera, taking a number of shots of the wound. He made sure his middle finger made it into a least a couple of the photos, but stopped when she gave him a brief glare. 

“You’re healing quickly,” she said, setting the camera aside. “But I want to give your stitches another day before they’re removed.” She retrieved a roll of gauze from the cart and set about re-wrapping his torso. It didn’t take long, and though he was definitely still sore, she didn’t do much to aggravate the injury.

“Writing anything good?” he asked when she had finished and stepped back to jot some notes on a clipboard. She actually gave him a slight smile. “I’ve heard some complaints about your humor, but I actually find it amusing.” 

“Oh, then maybe I should stop. I’m not here to entertain you.” 

“Whatever you like.” She finished with the clipboard, and then went about taking his temperature and blood pressure before pulling off the gloves. “We’re all done here. Thank you for your cooperation.” 

Peter sat up. “Can I have my shirt back?” 

She took the handle of the cart and began backing out the room. “I’ll speak to someone about it.” At that, the door closed after her and she was gone. 

Peter dragged both his hands down his face, letting out a low growl of frustration.They couldn’t even give him his smelly old t-shirt without having some form of discussion about it first? It was dehumanizing, not to mention that the stupid room was still chilly. It made him want to hit something, and it was at that moment that Bucky decided to speak up. 

“You okay, Peter?” 

He shot a glare in the man’s direction, noticing that the soldier had also sat up on his own cot. “You mean to tell me you care?” 

Bucky looked a little startled by the frigid words. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, nothing. I just really appreciated the help.” 

He sighed. “What did you want me to do?” 

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you would have had something to say other than, ‘do what you gotta,’ but I guess that was my mistake. I won’t make it again.” 

Bucky looked completely thrown by his anger. Peter figured he hadn’t expected the kid he’d seen either drugged and weak, or defensive and sarcastic, to be capable of such resentment. Especially not toward someone he had always considered one his heroes. But that’s where they were.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid, but I knew she wasn’t going to do anything really terrible. For better or worse, I know HYDRA. I know how they work, and it was obvious that she was only here to check you over. If they had wanted to do another experiment, it wouldn’t have been in this room, and we definitely wouldn’t have been given the option of movement.” 

“That’s right,” Peter huffed, still angry. “You know everything about these guys, but you can’t be bothered to fill me in on any of it.” 

He could tell Bucky had to struggle to keep his temper at that, but the man managed. “I have assumptions, but that’s all. I wasn’t going to scare you with something we couldn’t be sure was true.” 

“Whatever.” Peter laid down, rolling over to face the wall. He didn’t want to look at Bucky anymore. 

“I get why you’re angry, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so compliant with her, but I was thinking of Steve, okay? I don’t know when they’ll bring him back, but when they do he’s probably not going to be in great shape. If I got myself shocked by saying or doing something stupid, and then he came back, how was I supposed to help him? I didn’t have a choice.”

Peter didn’t move or say anything. Part of what Bucky was saying made sense, but it also served to make him feel like an outsider. The underlying message was loud and clear: Bucky and Steve were a team. Peter may have been caught in this with them, they may have technically been on the same side, but when it came down to it he was always going to be third in the pecking order. Steve and Bucky were friends, after all, so Peter knew he shouldn’t be blaming them. He just didn’t like how much it felt like betrayal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and continuing to comment!! Your support means everything to me!! :D

Things remained tense between Peter and Bucky for the rest of the day, and it didn’t help that it was taking so long for Steve to return. Hours passed, it had to have been hours, and Peter did everything in his power to distract himself. He had counted the white tiles on the floor ten times over, played with his pillow until the edges of its case were frayed, and picked his cuticles bloody. He had even spent a while pacing back and forth across the cell, and had then literally climbed the walls and crawled across the ceiling. Bucky had made some comment along the lines of, “That’s insane,” upon watching him hanging upside down, but Peter just continued ignoring him. The soldier had given up talking to him after that. 

Peter was back on his cot, further worrying his pillow case, when the door finally opened and Steve was thrust inside. The door snapped closed behind him as quickly as it had opened, and both Peter and Bucky sprang to their feet as Steve did the opposite, collapsing to his knees on the floor. He was panting, and wet enough with sweat for it to be dripping from his hair and plastering his shirt to his body. He had laid down on the floor, rolling onto his back, in the handful of seconds it took his companions to make it to his side. Bucky crouched beside his friend, one hand going to his shoulder. 

“Steve? Are you okay? What happened?” 

Peter hovered uncomfortably beside them, looking the captain over for injury. He couldn’t find any sign of one, but Steve definitely looked entirely spent. He was still panting, and it seemed like he was struggling to keep his eyes open as he met Bucky’s gaze. “I’m alright,” he gasped out. 

“Yeah, you look it,” Bucky said. “What did they do to you?” 

“I’m really okay,” he panted out. “Just...give me a few minutes to catch my breath.” He closed his eyes then, sucking in air as if he thought it might disappear. It felt like an eternity, but was in fact probably just several minutes, before his breathing finally slowed to a more normal rate. Once he was no longer gasping, Steve opened his eyes again. 

“You good?” Bucky asked, a deep frown pressed across his lips. 

“Yes, sorry. Just worn out. You guys okay?” His gaze jumped briefly to Peter before shooting back to his friend. 

“We’re fine. Nothing happened today.” Peter didn’t completely agree with that assessment, but he let it slide. It wasn’t really the time to bring up the fact that his newly formed trust in Bucky had taken a fairly significant hit. “Tell me what they did.” 

“They didn’t hurt me,” he assured them. “They just ran me through a ton of different endurance tests. I think they were figuring out my limits. I lifted increasingly heavy weights until it was too much for even me to hold, jogged on a ridiculously fast treadmill until I couldn’t keep up, did about a million pull ups, then push ups, then sit ups, and then repeated the whole thing. I’m exhausted.” 

“It sounds more fun than my day,” Bucky said, though the concern hadn’t left his eyes. “It’s boring as sin in here.” 

“I was hoping to make you jealous,” Steve joked, but it came out weak. He was still winded, and they watched his eyes close again. 

“Want me to help you into bed?” Bucky asked. 

“No thanks, I want to stay here. The floor is cold. It feels good.” 

“Okay.” Bucky shifted from his crouched position so he was sitting fully on the floor. “Just keep cooling down. Did they at least give you some water? You’re sweating buckets.” 

Steve nodded. “I promise I’m fine. You don’t have to sound so upset. I spent most of the day stressing about you guys. I figured they’d take your marrow, Buck.” 

“Nothing like that happened. Some lady came in to check Peter’s wound, but neither of us were hurt.” 

“Good.” He visibly relaxed against the floor. Not knowing what to say, Peter retrieved the captain’s pillow and placed it under his head. The man briefly opened one eye. “Thanks, son.” 

“Yep.” He stood for a moment, rubbing his arms, before awkwardness won out. He left the two men and returned to his cot. His pillow case has pretty well had it, so he began picking at the stitching on his blanket. It kept his fingers busy at least. 

The two super soldiers continued talking in quiet tones, and Peter did his best not to eavesdrop. He didn’t know if they’d figured out by now that his hearing was advanced, but either way he didn’t want to listen in without an invitation. He focused hard on the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat, things he was normally able to tune out without thinking about it, in order to keep his mind and ears occupied. It worked, mostly, and it must have been the better part of an hour before the sound of their dinner arriving through the slot grabbed his attention. 

“Join us, Peter,” Steve invited, having sat up and slid the tray to where he was seated beside Bucky. He looked better. His breathing was back to normal and most of his sweat had dried. Peter complied, plopping down between the soldiers without a word. “It looked like you zoned out for a while there. Is everything okay? Is your chest hurting?” 

“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He poured himself a glass, and took a long drink, of what turned out to be grape juice. He was grateful for the extra sugar, but still kind of wished they would just give them some water for once. He’d taken to guzzling from the sink during their two daily bathroom breaks, as the amount of liquid they were given never felt sufficient. He was pretty sure he was always at least a little dehydrated these days. Maybe that was part of HYDRA’s plan to keep them weak. 

“You just seem a little quiet today,” Steve gently prodded after the short reply. Peter just shrugged. The captain was being nice, as always, but Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just an extra head to them. Bucky had already made it clear where his loyalty laid, and it wasn’t with Peter. At least not first. And that was fine. He got it. Really.

“He’s mad at me,” Bucky said. 

“What? Why?” 

“I’m not mad,” Peter spoke calmly, reaching for something that resembled a hamburger. It was a grayish slab of meat on a bun, complete with ketchup. He took a bite, and was hungry enough to ignore the unpleasant texture. The taste could have been worse. 

“You could have fooled me. You’ve been giving me the silent treatment all day.” 

“I didn’t have anything to say.” 

“What am I missing?” Steve said. “Why would he be mad?” 

“I’m not mad,” Peter repeated. It was true. He’d been angry at first, but now he’d just accepted it. Expecting two Avengers, two rogue Avengers at that, to view him as an equal had been stupid. 

“You seemed pretty mad earlier,” Bucky accused. 

“Can one of you please fill me in?” Steve demanded. 

Peter shoved the rest of the burger into his mouth. He’d finished it in a total of three bites and was, as usual, still hungry. It seemed like the longer he was here, and the higher number of discomforts that were piled upon him, the more on edge he became. He usually didn’t have a temper, but he was really beginning to feel like hitting something. He wished Simmons was around. 

“Earlier, when that lady came in to check his wound, I didn’t do anything to stop her. I think Peter expected me to defend him, and I would have if I’d thought he was in danger, but judgement told me it wasn’t the right time to pick a fight. I guess Peter disagreed. I said I was sorry.” 

“And I said I wasn’t mad,” Peter said for the third time. He climbed to his feet, resisting the urge to kick his empty cup across the room, and returned to his cot. He sat on it, crossing his legs and leaving his back to the soldiers. It felt juvenile, but it wasn’t as if he had many options for privacy. Whenever he was mad at May, or just needed a breather after a frustrating day, his solution was to go in his room and close the door. He’d usually work on a Lego set or tinker with a new upgrade design until he’d calmed down. Here, turning his back was the best he could do. 

He missed May. He missed Mr. Stark. He missed his bed. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to feel safe, and full, and not constantly stressed about whether or not he could entirely trust his companions. He didn’t want to have to worry that if he fell asleep, he’d be awakened by a painful attack against his senses, only to then be taken to a room with a bunch of scientists who wanted to torture him. As Spider Man he was used to danger, but he wasn’t accustomed to feeling so out of control. Here his only option was to let HYDRA do what they wanted to him, and just pray it wouldn’t be too agonizing while waiting to be rescued. Because that’s what it had come to, really. He no longer believed he was going to get himself out of this one, and he had more or less lost faith that the super soldiers could either. His only hope now rested with Iron Man.

Steve and Bucky picked up on the fact that this wasn’t the time to bother him, and they finished their dinner in near-silence. Peter had expected the usual two guards when they arrived for the evening bathroom break, but this time the woman from earlier was with them. He wasn’t thrilled to be seeing her again so soon, and figured that any deviation from their usual routine couldn’t be good. 

“Up,” one of the men commanded. “All three of you. Let’s go.” 

“Where are we headed?” Bucky asked, climbing to his feet and offering Steve a hand up. The captain accepted the help, looking sore from overexertion. 

“You shower every three days. Come on.” Peter stood up when the guards glared at him, impatient as ever. 

“And don’t try anything stupid,” the second guard warned them. “Single file. Let’s go.” 

They were led from the room in a straight line, one guard beside Steve, the other beside Bucky, and the woman with Peter. The hallway wasn’t very wide, but he shifted as far from her as possible. She let him. 

When they reached the bathroom they were each given the opportunity to use the toilet stalls before being ordered into the shower cubicles. Peter hated that the showers were doorless, curtainless, and separated from each other only by chest high dividers. HYDRA apparently wasn’t overly concerned with their privacy, but at least the guards stood near the bathroom door where they wouldn’t be able to see more than their heads and shoulders. Peter chose the shower furthest from the door, Steve in the one next to him, and Bucky on the captain’s other side. They were ordered to undress and leave their dirty clothes on the floor in front of the showers. Peter felt grimy, and knew he’d started to smell, so he wasn’t actually that upset about the prospect of a shower. He got as far as unbuttoning his jeans when the woman suddenly appeared in front of him. 

“What the hell, lady?” His hands froze where they were. 

“Just a moment,” she said, producing the same small pair of scissors as earlier from the pocket of her lab coat. He allowed it as she began cutting away the gauze once more. She bent forward to get a better look at his stitches once the bandages had been pulled away. “These can probably come out tomorrow, but I want them to stay overnight to be on the safe side. Try not to get the incision point too wet if you can help it.” At that she left him, disposing of the gauze in a trashcan and standing by the guards. Peter glanced briefly to the soldiers, feeling his cheeks heat up when he realized they were both watching his face. He quickly looked down and finished undressing. 

They were informed they would have ten minutes to shower before being given permission to turn on the water. There was only one knob, and Peter jumped back with a gasp when a shock of icy water hit him. He spent about a minute dancing in and out of the spray, shivering and waiting for the water to warm up, before realizing that wasn’t going to happen. Even since he had gotten his spider powers, his body had not done well with the cold. He knew he was never going to get warm again, but eventually forced himself directly under the shower head, the desire to be clean winning out over the one that wanted warmth. 

“You guys suck, you know that?” he said, looking at the guards and tightening his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. On top of the cold, the water pressure was crappy too, so he knew he’d need as much time as possible to rinse the soap off. He grabbed the single white bottle off the shower floor, simply labeled: Shampoo/Body Wash, and began scrubbing himself down from hair to toes. He did his best to keep his stitches out from under the water, gingerly washing the dried blood away from the marbled bruising. Given the location of his wound, it wasn’t easy. 

Though he wasn’t at all confident he’d gotten the soap out of his hair, Peter shut the water off a full minute early, wrapping his arms around his shivering body. One of the guards approached, and was at least decent enough to avert his gaze as he extended a thin, gray towel to Peter. He dried off as quickly as possible before also being handed a set of clothes. The guard backed up again as he dressed in a pair of white boxers, oversized gray sweatpants, and a matching short-sleeved t-shirt. Only when he was clothed did he shoot another look at his companions, seeing that they had also finished their showers and dressed in identical outfits.

With the showers out of the way, they were lined up in front of the sinks and each given a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste for the first time since their arrival. Peter didn’t say a word before squeezing out a thick, minty glob, and beginning to brush with vigor. He’d been longing for a toothbrush since the first night. His teeth had been feeling tacky, and he hadn’t wanted to think about what his breath smelled like. He brushed twice before he was satisfied, and was then handed a plastic cup in which to store his toothbrush and paste by the sink. He was glad to know they’d be there in the morning. After that, they were lined up once more and led back to their cell. When they got there the woman checked Peter’s side one more time, told him to sleep on his back and let it breathe overnight, and then left with the guards. As he was leaving, one of the guards told them they had five minutes before lights out.

It might have been because he was already freezing, but Peter could have sworn the room was even colder than usual. His fingernails had actually turned a pale shade of blue, so once they were alone he wasted no time in climbing into bed and wrapping the blanket as tightly around himself as he could. He didn’t care what the woman (who he’d started to think of as Frizz because of her puffy blonde hair) had said about letting his side breathe. Getting warm came first, even though he doubted he had enough body heat left to even remotely heat up the blanket. Steve must have noticed, because he appeared at Peter’s side. “Want my blanket?”

It was tempting, but he shook his head. Steve might not have been freezing the way Peter was, but he still looked cold. The man had already gone through a difficult enough day without being uncomfortable all night on top of it. “Thanks for the offer.” 

“You sure?” Steve pressed, sounding uncertain. “You just...You don’t look great.” 

Peter already knew that. He must have looked fairly pathetic wrapped up in a shivering blanket cocoon, but he didn’t want them thinking he couldn’t handle it. “I’m sure.” 

“Okay,” Steve said, dropping the issue and sitting down on his own cot. 

“Want mine?” Bucky asked, holding up his blanket and raising his eyebrows. 

“No.” 

He’d thought the soldier had been mocking him, and maybe he had been, but Bucky frowned at the response. He looked thoughtful for a second before speaking again. “This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten too cold. You don’t regulate temperature well, do you?” 

For some reason that made him feel defensive. “What are you talking about? Was I the only one who got an ice shower? It’s not like that would have felt good to anyone.” 

“No, it was like being in the Arctic,” Bucky admitted. “But Steve and I stopped shivering when we were dry. You?”  
It was obvious that Peter was still shaking, but he really didn’t want to get into it. If he was going to keep insisting that he wasn’t mad at Bucky, then he needed to start backing that up with his attitude. He let out a sigh. “Spiders don’t thermoregulate,” he said. “When I get cold, I stay that way for a while, but it’s not a big deal. I’ll just sleep it off.” 

As if on cue, the lights went out. “Are you sure?” Steve’s voice cut through the darkness. “Are you safe?” 

“I’m fine. Scout’s honor.”

“You were in the boy scouts?” Steve asked. 

Peter let out an audible snort, thinking of how quickly pre-spider bite Parker would have gotten beaten up if he had so much as mentioned joining the group. “Heck no. Just borrowing the expression.” Both men chuckled at that, and Peter noticed a tiny bit of the tension he’d felt all day disappear. 

He still wasn’t sure how much he trusted them, or how much they trusted him for that matter, but figured it was probably a good thing they were at least speaking again. He supposed they didn’t have to be the best of friends to share the same side. He planned on depending first and foremost on himself, using his powers and determination to get through anything HYDRA threw his way, but it was nice to know the soldiers weren’t completely apathetic toward him. He reminded himself that Steve had been nothing but kind since they’d met, and that Bucky, though having let him down earlier that day, had been incredibly angry after his procedure. Maybe he wasn’t giving them enough credit. Maybe he could afford to be a little more open. 

“We’re not getting ourselves out of here, are we?” he suddenly asked. “I mean, meatloaf on a high security lock?” 

They were quiet for a moment before Steve answered. “It wasn’t our greatest idea.” 

“That’s because you don’t have any ideas.” It was just a statement of fact. He didn’t mean for it to sound accusing. 

“Do you?” Bucky asked. 

“None.” 

Steve let out a long sigh. “You’re not wrong. I’ve wracked my mind, but I can’t come up with a single doable plan as long as we’re wearing these bracelets.” 

“I’m tempted to just charge them again and see how far I get,” Bucky said. “Peter got a hit in. Remember that guy who took you earlier, Steve?” 

“I figured that was your doing. Nice work, Queens.” Steve sounded impressed, and Peter found he liked the nickname a lot better than ‘kid.’

“Thanks,” he said. “But I just got lucky with that one. They didn’t shock me because it would have interfered with the procedure, but I never had any real hope of getting out. Believe me, I tried. I don’t think any amount of attacking them is going to work.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “But it might feel good.” 

Peter grinned, even though they wouldn’t see it in the dark. “It felt great!”

Steve sobered them. “I guess we just have to wait it out and hope a window of opportunity presents itself. One of them will screw up eventually.” 

“Hopefully,” Bucky said. “These guys seldom do.” 

The turn in conversation was so depressing that Peter decided he had to tell them. “Iron Man will get us out.” 

“What on earth makes you think that?” Bucky demanded. “Tony Stark hates me.” 

“He’s not my biggest fan at the moment either,” Steve said, sounding a bit pained. “I still consider him my friend, but after everything that happened between us, I’m not sure…” 

“He still cares,” Peter said, unwilling to admit that Mr. Stark’s affection definitely didn’t extend to Bucky. “He told me.” 

“He told you?” Steve said. “Just how close are you two?” 

“I don’t know. Pretty?” 

“How? I hadn’t realized he knew you before everything that happened in Germany.” 

“He didn’t. But some stuff happened after that, and we just got...closer?” He wasn’t about to explain everything that had gone down with Toomes, but it was after the night of homecoming that he and Mr. Stark had really started to connect. Months had passed since then, and it was at the point where Peter now spent most of his free time at the compound. “I know you guys haven’t been talking, but it’s obvious he cares. Even if he didn’t, he’d definitely still be looking for me.” 

“How would he know you were gone?” Steve still sounded baffled. 

“He knows,” Peter said. “Believe me.” 

“I can’t wrap my head around Tony Stark hanging out with a teenager,” Bucky said. “It doesn’t seem possible.” 

“I’m not exactly a normal teenager,” Peter defended, not bothering to mention that Mr. Stark had admitted to liking plain old Peter Parker every bit as much as his, much cooler, alter ego. “And he’s going to find me. I just thought you guys should know.”

“You sound awfully certain about that,” Bucky said. 

“I’m entirely certain. It’s just a matter of when. Depends on how good HYDRA is at hiding its tracks.” 

“They’re good,” Steve said. “But if Tony’s looking for us, then our situation is a lot less bleak than I thought.”

Feeling slightly better about their situation, Peter snuggled further into his cot, curling up and tucking his hands under his armpits in hopes of retaining even a smidgen of warmth. He could hear the sounds of his companions getting situated as well, shuffling their blankets and pillows. When he was as comfortable and warm as he could get, which admittedly wasn’t very, he broke the silence that had fallen. “Are you really okay, Captain Rogers?” 

“Steve,” he corrected. “And yes. I’m a little sore, but otherwise unharmed. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I think we need to worry about each other,” Bucky said. 

“That’s true,” Steve agreed. “But I meant right now. I’m really okay.” 

Peter decided he believed him, and didn’t say anything about Bucky’s comment. He was in favor of looking out for one another, but felt no more confident that they would protect him if it came down to their safety over his. It wasn’t that he wanted the soldiers jeopardizing themselves for him, but more that he hated the feeling of being the lowest member of the pack. He reminded himself that he was used to being a lone wolf. Mr. Stark had recently changed that to some extent, worrying and looking out for him in a way that he could only ever remember his aunt and uncle doing, but even before Spider Man he was pretty good at taking care of himself. May and Ben had been wonderful, but he still knew what it was like to grow up without the safety net of parents. For years he had dealt with bullies on his own, and when he first became Spider Man he’d handled everything that entailed entirely on his own. This was just another example of everything he was already used to. HYDRA might have been more frightening than his usual opponents, but he knew he could do this. Furthermore, there was no way his captivity could last too much longer. Iron Man was coming. It was only a matter of time. 

It wasn’t long after that they all fell quiet. Peter focused on the sounds of his companion’s heartbeats, and was able to tell from the rates that Steve fell asleep quickly. That wasn’t surprising, considering the day he’d had. Bucky took a lot longer, but eventually joined his friend in slumber. Peter, however, felt restless and wide awake. He was uncomfortable, still shivering as his body failed to get any warmer. He laid in bed for hours before giving up and beginning to pace, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He depended on his spidey-sense to keep him from crashing into anything as he walked back and forth across the room, quiet enough to keep from waking either of the soldiers. 

He never did get his mind to settle down enough for sleep, and had ended up back on the ceiling when their wakeup call came. It was every bit as unpleasant as the previous day, the impenetrable blackness and silence of the room transforming into an instant torture chamber of searing light and piercing squealing. Peter was startled so badly he actually screamed, detaching from the ceiling and landing hard on the tiled floor. He ignored the pain that brought to his battered chest and pulled the blanket over his head, curling in upon himself and covering his ears. About a minute passed before the squealing became even louder, stabbing so deeply into Peter’s ears that he forgot about everything else, including the light. He might have been screaming, but he couldn’t hear anything past the all-encompassing, teeth-shattering, migraine-inducing noise. He had no idea how long it lasted before the room returned to merciful silence. 

Even after it stopped, it took Peter a minute to regain his senses. His head still hurt so badly he was about ninety-eight percent certain he’d vomit if he moved. At first he thought the pressure over his head was a result of the migraine, but he eventually became aware that someone was leaning over him, large hands pressing a pillow over his ears. He forced his eyes open and dragged the blanket off his face, relieved to realize the light had dimmed back to normal. Both soldiers were on their knees beside him, Steve pressing the pillow over his ears. He had no clue when they had appeared. 

“Sorry.” It was the first word that made it past his lips, and he winced as even the sound of his own voice felt too loud.

“Don’t apologize,” Steve said, lifting the pillow away and allowing Peter to drop his own hands from his ears. “That looked awful.” 

“Felt awful too,” Bucky said, digging one finger exaggeratedly into his ear. 

He didn’t mean to, but Peter continued to flinch at every noise. He knew his senses would calm down eventually, but such a sudden onslaught of stimulation was never going to leave him without some lingering side effects. Steve noticed, because the next time he spoke it was at a whisper. “You have to tell me. How much more sensitive is your hearing and eyesight than an average person’s? Ours is enhanced, but it’s nothing like this.” 

“It can be bad,” he admitted, also at a whisper. He still hadn’t made any effort to move. His stomach was churning, and his vision was blurred and unsteady. The room was tilting and kept going in and out of focus. “I can usually control it unless things are really overpowering. My mask helps a lot too. And it’s not just my ears and eyes. It’s all my senses.” He didn’t know if it was pain, disorientation, or tiredness that was making him so honest, but Steve looked pleased to have finally gotten a truthful answer, even if it wasn’t necessarily good news.

“Are you okay now?” Bucky asked, following their lead and lowering his voice. 

“Head hurts,” he mumbled. “Just need a minute for things to straighten out.” 

“Take your time,” Steve encouraged, and Peter would have listened if the door hadn’t opened at that minute. 

“Who's first?” 

It couldn’t have been that loud, but Peter felt like the guard had shouted it right in his ear. He curled up even tighter, snapping his eyes shut and swallowing a mouthful of sour bile. Steve’s hand locked around his shoulder, and he heard Bucky jump to his feet. “Shh!” 

“Are you shushing me?” the man demanded. 

“Yeah, genius.” Peter didn’t know how Bucky could make his voice sound that insulting while still whispering. “That’s generally what ‘shh’ means.” 

“Don’t, Buck,” Steve pleaded quietly. “Not today.” 

“Fine, I’ll play nice. Let’s go piss, boys.” The guards mumbled something unpleasant in response, but were apparently not angry enough to shock him. 

“Sometimes he forgets common sense,” Steve said when they had gone. 

“He was protecting me,” Peter said, realization rushing over him.

“Of course he was,” the captain said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“He didn’t yesterday.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but his brain was still muddled. 

“Then he must have thought it was the right thing at the time. Can you open your eyes?” Steve changed the subject before Peter could think any more about it. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He really really didn’t want to, but he knew he needed to get it together before the guards came back. He needed to be prepared for whatever the day had in store. He forced his eyelids apart, finding the room no more steady than it had been before. “That’s good,” Steve said. 

“I wanna sit up.” 

“Okay, just take it slow.” The captain held his arm as he pushed himself sluggishly into a seated position. 

The moment Peter was up, the world spun violently and his ears started ringing. Vomit filled his mouth, and then he was choking it up onto the floor. There were suddenly dark clouds at the corners of his vision, but before he could question what they were doing there, they were moving in. Everything went black. He felt himself tilt. He was out even before his body hit the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me every step of the way, but I finally managed to spit it out. Thank you guys so much for continuing to read and leave me such wonderfully supportive comments! I absolutely love hearing what you guys think, and it definitely keeps me motivated to continue updating! Hope you enjoy this one! Still more to come! :)

Peter was genuinely surprised to find himself waking up. He couldn’t believe his hyperactive senses had actually caused him to pass out. It had happened one other time, on his first fourth of July after getting his powers. He’d been in his original suit, as he hadn’t yet met Mr. Stark and received all the fancy upgrades. He’d gone out patrolling, and was standing on top of a tall building when a firework went off not ten feet from his head. The sudden combination of light and sound had caused him to black out immediately, but the lesson had been learned and he’d been far more careful since then. His new suit was also designed to muffle any especially loud noises and lights, so even explosions and gunshots were no longer a problem. 

“Peter?” 

He still felt dazed, his head throbbing along with each beat of his heart, but began blinking his eyes in an attempt to bring the world back into focus. The lighting was dimmed to a warm glow that didn’t do anything to additionally hurt his head, and he was lying on something that felt firm, but not hard. He thought that maybe it was some kind of padded table that hadn’t yet been broken in. In his murky state he might have thought he was safe, and even somewhat comfortable, if it hadn’t been for the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. They were standing at attention, and accompanied by the familiar ‘zing!’ shooting through his nerve endings. He may have been out of it, but his spidey-sense was determined to let him know he was in danger. 

He started blinking faster and giving his head tiny shakes, hoping that would encourage the lingering fog to dissipate faster. He also started flexing his fingers and toes, but felt a boulder fall into the pit of his stomach when he tried to move more than that. His wrists and ankles were restrained. 

“Peter?”

He had barely registered it the first time, but the same voice was speaking his name again. He forced his eyes to follow the words to their owner, and shouldn’t have felt so shocked when they landed upon the, still blurry, face of Dalton Fields. He mumbled an expletive.

“Glad to see you are finally back with me,” the man said. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you.” 

“Sorry to tell you this, Dolt, but that sentiment is entirely one-sided.” His tongue felt a little heavy in his mouth, but he managed to get the reply out without too much trouble. He still had the mother of all migraines, but sound was no longer especially painful, and as long as he didn’t try to move his head, his vision kept becoming clearer. 

“This was not what I had originally planned for this morning,” Fields said, ignoring the snark as usual. “But after I was informed about your reaction to today’s alarm, I thought it best to rearrange some things. Tell me, what was it that caused you to lose consciousness?” 

“I guess I just thought of your lovely ginger locks and swooned,” he said, not missing a beat. He began glancing slowly around the room, trying to figure out where he was without moving too much. His vision went a tad unfocused, but he was able to blink enough of the mist away to take in his surroundings. He realized there wasn’t much to see. The room was small and empty except for Fields and whatever table he was strapped to. The overhead lights were set low enough that the entire room was shadowed. Directly across from him was a door that looked every bit as impenetrable as all the other barriers he’d encountered since arriving at HYDRA. 

“It’s just us at the moment,” the professor said, drawing Peter’s attention back to his emerald eyes. “And for now I’m asking nothing of you but honest conversation.” 

“Pass. I don’t want to hear your deep dark secrets.” 

“Enough.” The single word was calm, quiet even, but carried the authority of a shout. “You can talk to me now, with no further childish commentary, or I will be forced to act on hypothesis alone. That would mean testing my suspicions to see if I am correct.” 

Peter swallowed down the smart comeback that immediately sprang to mind, a little offended that his retorts had been called childish. The quips he was coming up with would have put Mr. Stark to shame, or at the very least made him proud. He needed to play this smart, though, and that meant not getting himself needlessly hurt. You didn’t taunt the cat when you were already caught in the mouse trap. At least not if you had any sense. 

“You want to know why I passed out? It’s called a migraine. Ever had one?” He wanted to add that he wouldn’t mind introducing the man to what it felt like, but decided he was already pushing his luck with the tone. 

“I assumed as much, considering you are exhibiting all the symptoms,” Fields said. “But what was it about the alarm, specifically, that caused the migraine?” 

“Have you ever been in the same room with that thing? It would give anyone a headache! Please don’t tell me that’s how you wake up for work every morning.” 

“It is not meant to be pleasant,” Fields admitted. “Especially to one who is enhanced. However, Rogers and Barnes were merely uncomfortable, while you blacked out. I want to know just how advanced your senses are. Was it the light, pitch, volume, or all three that caused you to react so strongly?” 

Peter felt his mouth go dry. He didn’t like where this was leading. He didn’t want Fields learning any more about him than he already had; especially not when it had to do with his weaknesses. He didn’t have very many of those, but it felt like HYDRA was plucking each of them out into the light where they would undoubtedly be used against him. 

“Peter,” Fields said when he failed to respond. “It is not a difficult question.” 

“I’m not sure why I passed out,” he said, going with a half lie. He was almost positive that the combination of light and sound was what had done him in, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. 

“Then I suppose we will have to find out together.” 

With no explanation, Fields turned and walked to the door, scanning his fingerprints against a touch pad that seemingly opened the lock. He left Peter alone, confused, and, though he’d never admit it, scared. The professor’s words had been ominous, and despite the fact that the man was far from the best of company, Peter really hated being alone. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t certain something unpleasant was going to happen to him. His spidey-sense was repeatedly (and at this point unhelpfully) reminding him of that. He was restrained against a table in a dimly-lit room, so it wasn’t exactly like he was expecting a relaxing morning, but he would have preferred to know what was going to happen. Even if it was frightening. 

He was left on his own for a long while. There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, but it was enough for Peter’s exhaustion to begin winning out over fear. He hadn’t slept the previous night, and even though his headache was gradually getting better, he continued feeling dizzy and a little sick. It helped when he closed his eyes, but he put that off as long as possible, knowing that if he kept them closed it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep. It must have been hours before he finally gave in. As anticipated, he was drifting mere minutes after that. 

He didn’t sleep deeply, thank goodness, and his eyes snapped open at the sound of the door. A number of, unfortunately now familiar, scientists, or doctors, or whatever they were, entered the room, including Simmons, Glasses, Frizz, and Fields. He could hear one of them pushing a rattling cart, but from his position was unable to see its contents. He couldn’t decide if that was for better or worse before Fields was speaking. 

“How is your head?” 

“Better,” he answered truthfully. The blurriness and vertigo were gone, and the remaining ache was a mere shadow of what it had been before his nap. For the sake of politeness, he thought he’d better return the inquiry. “How’s yours?” 

“I thought we talked about this,” Fields said warningly.

“I was asking Simmons,” he defended. “His face looks all swollen and ugly, so I thought maybe his head was bothering him too.” The man in question actually did look pretty rotten. He had a padded brace over his inflamed nose, and there was a lot of surrounding bruising. He was currently glaring at Peter, and the kid couldn’t have been more pleased with himself. 

“I will take that to mean you are ready to move forward with today’s test,” Field’s spoke coolly. “I was going to make sure you were recovered from this morning’s accident, but if you’re well enough for rudeness, you are well enough for this. Meldon.” 

At the order, Frizz, whose real name was apparently Meldon, came up beside him. Peter heard, but couldn't move enough to see, her shuffling through the cart before she produced a pair of solid white, thickly padded headphones. He had been expecting something significantly more threatening, and was simply confused when she placed them over his ears. If they were meant to block out sound, they weren’t working. With his advancements, Peter could still hear perfectly fine. 

“If you’re going to play me a song, please don’t choose country. I just can’t get into the twangy-ness. Is that a word? It should be.” 

Peter shouldn’t have poked the bear. By the time he realized Fields was holding a remote in his hand, it was too late. The man wordlessly twisted a small dial on the device, and Peter’s world was awash with pain. The sound coming through the headphones was one long, deafening screech that was high enough in pitch to send lightning through his ears, behind his eyes, and deep into his molars. The noise didn’t waver or change in any way, and the consistency was agony. He was pulling at the bounds around his wrists without meaning to; an involuntary response to try and knock the headphones away and cover his ears. It was all he could do to keep from screaming as the noise and pain continued. He did not want to break down again in front of these people.

When the noise finally stopped, the stabbing pains and ringing in his ears didn’t. They lessened with the silence, but that was all. The headache was back full force. Despite all that, he made himself focus on Fields. It looked like they’d planned another day of torture, and if that was the case, there was really no point in holding back on his preferred defense mechanism. 

“Thank you for not choosing country.”

No one responded, but the professor gave a small nod toward his assistants. They gathered around Peter, taking his pulse and shining a penlight into his eyes, jotting notes on their clipboards all the while. It only took a minute before they were backing away again, and Fields lifted the remote once more. 

This time the noise was different, but no less painful. It was a low, vibrating hum, played at the same explosive volume as the previous pitch. Instead of continuing at one, unceasing drone, this sound came in waves. Three seconds of noise, two seconds of silence, three seconds of noise, two seconds of silence. Peter thought it might have been worse than the last one as he felt the sound embed itself somewhere deep in the back of his skull, creating so much pressure that he was certain his head was about to split open. He’d closed his eyes, shifting as much as he could and moaning a low, pitiful sound before it stopped again. He let out a small sigh of relief, biting his tongue to silence the noises of pain and opening his eyes. The room was moving, swaying in disjointed directions, and the dim lights seemed entirely too bright. It hadn’t taken his other senses long to act up once his ears were ambushed. Great.

The process repeated. The cronies checked him over, took notes, and stepped away in order to let Fields raise his remote. It lasted an eternity, and after the fourth round Peter gave up on not screaming. It hurt too much to ignore. Sometimes the noises blaring through the headphones were new, and sometimes they repeated, but they never became any less loud. He listened to hours of high-pitched, unbroken squeals, repetitive beeping, low, pulsating hums, and too many other unpleasant sounds to remember. He was barely aware enough to be relieved when they removed the headphones, his fuzzy, dizzying vision more or less useless, and the constant ringing in his ears messing further with his equilibrium. He thought it was over until they replaced the headphones with a thick pair of glasses over his eyes. They blocked out every ounce of light, effectively blinding him. With the severity of his headache, that was actually nice, but it was short-lived. 

Mere seconds passed before the glasses lit up, sending a piercing white light straight through his retinas and into his aching head. It was bright enough that closing his eyes made no difference, and only then did he realize the experiment was only part of the way over. Like the noises, there were different kinds of light. The glasses went black between rounds, and he felt the figures around him continuing to check him over and take notes, but the breaks never lasted long. He screamed his way through beams of unbroken light, flashing strobes, and about a million, different dancing colors that were all equally awful. He vomited repeatedly, feeling hands turning him onto his side, until there was nothing left in his stomach and he could only heave dryly. 

By the time it was over, his mind and senses were done. He felt the glasses being removed, and then the restraints, but didn’t so much as wiggle his fingers. He was overstimulated well beyond the point of anything he’d ever experienced before, all his senses heightened to the point of pain. It wasn’t just his ears and eyes either. He could now smell the disinfectants that had once been used to clean the floors, what every one of the people in the room had eaten for breakfast, and his own sweat and bile. He was hyper aware of the sour remnants of vomit on his tongue, to the point where he would have puked again had there been anything left in his stomach. Even his skin had become impossible to ignore. The clothing against his body felt scratchy and too restrictive, the sweat coating his face and chest was itchy and uncomfortable, and the table against his back was way too hard. He could feel every dent and imperfection digging into his spine and legs. 

He was so far gone that he didn’t even know he had been moved until he felt cold fingers on his cheek and a voice, fast with worry, whispering into his ear. It took him longer than it should have to realize that the word being spoken was his own name. He wished it would stop. He needed quiet. The ringing, and the spinning, and the flashing, despite his eyes being closed, was more than he could handle. There was no escape from any of it. Even just lying still was torture as his senses picked up every imaginable stimulant, and then some.

He ignored the voice long enough for it to back off, but was pretty sure he could hear it, and maybe one other, somewhere a little further away. His senses were so heightened that he could hear everything whether he wanted to or not, but that also meant he had lost the ability to filter the stimulants that got in the way. He could hear every nearby heartbeat, every breath, every shuffle of clothing, every footstep, and everything in between. Because there was so much input, he was unable to focus on any one thing; so even though he heard the voices, making out the actual words was impossible. All he could do was try his best not to move, willing the overstimulation to settle down and his head to stop feeling like there was a smashing sledgehammer inside of it. 

He didn’t think he had fallen asleep, but he had become so focused on staying still and, when he felt up to it, counting his breaths, that somewhere along the way he lost sense of time. Though they must have been simmering down for hours, to Peter it felt like his senses settled all at once. One minute he was choking back moans from the pain in every one of his nerve endings, and the next he was sucking in a deep breath of relief. Everything was still a little heightened, but had become more than bearable. His head was still agonizing, but as long as his senses were done torturing him he knew he could handle it. 

When he first worked up the courage to open his eyes, he spent several terrifying seconds thinking that the day’s experiments had caused him to go blind. He was surrounded by complete and total blackness, and he must have let out a whimper of despair, because in a moment he heard Bucky’s voice. The sound made him cringe, but only a little. His ears were definitely getting a lot better. 

“Peter? You awake? Can you hear me?” He heard the creaking of a cot, followed by the sound of footsteps, and it finally occurred to him that he was back in their cell. Lights out must have happened without him noticing. He heard and felt the soldier sit down at the edge of his bed, and then the feeling of fumbling fingers finding his wrist. “Peter?” 

“Uh...I’m...yeah…” The words came out dry and cracked, and Peter was suddenly aware of how much his throat felt like it was coated in sandpaper. He’d been too distracted by the events of the day to realize how painfully raw the screaming had left his throat, or how thirsty he was. He’d apparently missed an entire day of meals and bathroom breaks. 

“Thank, God,” Bucky breathed. “I’ve been trying to get a response out of you for hours. Can you tell me what happened?” 

“Quiet,” he pleaded for the sake of his ears and head. 

“This better?” Bucky said at a whisper. “Or do you want me to stop talking?” 

“Better.” He wanted to say more, but words were slow. The pain in his head was making it hard to form sentences, and everything else just felt distractingly achy.

“Hold on.” He felt Bucky leave the cot, and listened to him shuffling around for a minute. It sounded like something plastic was knocked over before the man returned beside him. “We saved you some juice from dinner. I think it’s lime flavored. Do you want it?” 

A drink sounded more desirable than just about anything. “Please.” 

“Is it okay if I help you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bucky didn’t comment on his short, raspy answers, and instead felt his way to Peter’s shoulders. The cold of his metal arm tucked around them before Peter felt himself lifted into a partial seated position. Bucky continued to support him as he felt the plastic rim of a cup against his lips. “It’s not very good,” the soldier warned as Peter began to drink. He was right. It was a disgusting combination of being too sweet, but also somehow sour. It burned going down his battered throat, but was still better than the dryness that had been there before. He emptied the cup before Bucky helped him lie back down. Only then did the soldier release his hold.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “And thanks for this morning.” 

“This morning?” 

“When the bathroom guys showed up,” he explained. The drink had helped a little with the swimming in his head, and sentences were coming slightly easier. “You distracted them so they wouldn’t bother me.” 

“Oh, that? That wasn’t anything. They still took you.” 

“It was something,” he insisted, not sure why his first lucid thoughts were about the morning. It just felt important for Bucky to know he was grateful. 

“Whatever you say. Now do you want to tell me what happened to you today?” 

Peter hesitated. “Not really?” He wasn’t trying to be difficult, but his brain still largely felt like sludge. He wasn’t ready to force it into remembering how excruciating the day had been, or how powerless he had felt. “My head hurts,” he added, not wanting to leave Bucky entirely in the dark. 

“Kid,” Bucky’s voice sounded strained, like he was trying to hold back a significant amount of emotion and stress. “I don’t think you realize how terrifying it was when they brought you back. Your breathing was too fast, and occasionally you’d make a noise so I knew you were awake, but I couldn’t get a reaction out of you once all evening. I’m sorry, but a headache doesn’t make that happen.”

“It’s a really bad headache.” 

Bucky blew out a frustrated breath. “I take that to mean you’re not going to tell me anything else?” 

“I want to.” He wasn’t trying to further test the small amount of trust they had developed, especially since it was already so shaky. Explaining just felt impossible. “It’s that I don’t...I don’t think I’m...all here yet.” 

“That’s obvious.” Bucky’s real hand found his wrist again, the grip feeling awkward and uncertain. He clearly wasn’t comfortable in the role of caregiver, but Peter appreciated that he was trying anyway. “I hate that you got dragged into this. You’re too young to be dealing with the evil shit HYDRA seems to have perfected. I know you’re in pain, and I know it’s more than a headache. It’s okay if you can’t, or don’t want to tell me about it right now, but I’d like to help you if I can. Is there anything I can do?” 

Peter was tempted to argue the point Bucky had made about his age. He wasn’t a child, and he didn’t like being thought of as one, but there were more pressing issues at hand. “You already helped. I think I just have to wait it out.” He hoped he was right. He’d had episodes of overstimulation before, some of which had been fairly bad, and riding it out in a dark room had always taken care of it. At worst, he’d had to sleep it off. This was different though. He’d never been deliberately forced into an overload, and his senses had never been specifically targeted before. 

“Buck?” The confused word came from the direction of Steve’s cot, and Bucky was up in an instant, moving to his friend. Peter heard him bump into the bed in the darkness. A nightlight really would have been helpful. 

“Hey, Peter’s up.” 

“Thank, God.” He heard the shifting of blankets, followed by a sharp gasp. 

“Don’t try to sit up!” Bucky ordered. “I’ve got him. Just don’t move.” 

The conversation wasn’t making sense. Was Steve hurt?

“I’m okay. How is he?” 

“What’s going on?” Peter asked. 

“Nothing you need to worry about right now,” Bucky said. “Both of you just need to listen to me for once and stay still.” 

Peter didn’t feel like he had much of a choice on that. With the way his head felt he thought he might never move again. Luckily that didn’t extend to his mouth. He had questions. “Tell me. What happened to you guys?” 

“And I want to know what they did to the kid,” Steve said. The words were followed by more shuffling, and another pained gasp. Bucky let out a sound of annoyance, and Peter could only assume the captain had succeeded in pushing himself into a seated position.

“If HYDRA doesn’t kill me, you two might,” Bucky complained, but when neither of them gave any indication of remorse, he continued. “Steve was taken shortly after you, but he wasn’t gone nearly as long. They put him through the same experiment as you. The thing with the chest.” 

The one with the rib spreader? Peter felt sick just thinking about it. 

“Don’t know how you handled this as well as you did, Queens,” Steve said, his voice still sounding tight. “I’ve taken some hits in my time, but this was definitely up there.” 

“It sucked,” Peter said. “I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” the captain told him. “But I’m worried about you. You looked rough when they brought you back. What happened?” 

“He won’t say,” Bucky said, saving Peter the trouble. “He told me he’s got a headache, but that’s all I could get out of him.” 

“I’m noticing a trend with you,” Steve said. “You’re awfully closed off. Did you get that from hanging out with Tony?”

He hadn’t. He’d always been that way about personal stuff. He’d definitely noticed that Mr. Stark had a similar tendency, but in recent months they’d gotten better about sharing with one another. It just took time for Peter to open up. 

“No.”

“I feel like we’re running in circles here, kid,” Bucky said. 

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” 

“No one said you were,” Steve cut in, diffusing the situation even though he was injured. Peter decided to move the conversation along. 

“Did they do anything to you, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Bucky,” he reminded. “And no.” For some reason he sounded upset about that. 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“It could be.” The soldier paused for a moment, taking several deep breaths, likely gathering his thoughts. “Steve and I talked about it earlier, and I think they must have some of HYDRA’s old records on me. They’re not testing me, because I think they already have the results.” 

“But isn’t that better than going through it now?” Peter asked. 

“Not necessarily,” Steve said. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Okay, listen.” By the sound of things Bucky had climbed to his feet and began pacing the small area between the cots. “I was hoping I could avoid telling you this, but it’s gone too far now. HYDRA has always been primarily interested in creating new super soldiers. I think they’re testing Steve for any similarities he shares with me. They’re probably doing the same with you too, but it’s my guess that they’re likely more interested in your differences.” 

“Why?” It’s not as though Peter hadn’t suspected this all had something to do with the super soldier program, but he didn’t think he fit the mold for that. He was enhanced, sure, but he was no Captain America or Winter Soldier. 

Bucky sighed. “I can only assume they either want to turn you into a soldier, or study you so they can create something similar themselves. Possibly both.” 

“What!” Peter had been speaking a little above a whisper, and it hurt his own ears when he all but shouted the word. “I would never...why would they think I would help them?” 

“They have ways.” Was Bucky’s voice shaking? 

“Stop,” Steve said. “You don’t have to go down that road.” 

“Kind of hard to avoid it here,” Bucky said.

“Try.” 

Peter didn’t know a ton about Bucky’s past, but from what Mr. Stark had told him, he’d spent more time with HYDRA than anyone would ever want. They had apparently tested on and tortured him until he’d been fashioned into something they were able to control. He’d been temporarily stripped of his free will and used as a weapon. Peter couldn’t imagine how terrifying that must have been, and he definitely didn’t want something similar happening to him. Just the idea of the friendly neighborhood Spider Man using his abilities to aid such an evil organization made his stomach turn over. There was no way he could let that happen.

“I’ve been trying.” Bucky’s voice was absolutely trembling. “But I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together.” 

“You’ve been doing great.” Steve was speaking calmly, obviously choosing his words with great care. “And you’re not alone this time. I’m right here with you.” 

“That’s almost worse. I can’t protect you.” 

“You’ve been looking out for me all along. Peter too. We’ll hang in there together, okay?” 

Bucky didn’t answer, and it was as if they had all reached some unspoken agreement to stop talking. Peter knew how much pain Steve must have been in, and he wasn’t faring too much better himself. The oversensitivity, though much improved, remained exhausting, his head felt like it was splitting into a thousand different pieces, and he was still nauseous. All that, added to the fact that Bucky seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown, made conversation a challenging concept. Hopelessness was weighing heavily on them all. What more was there to say?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for keeping up with this story and leaving me such wonderful feedback! You guys are seriously the best!!! :D Still more to come!

Days continued to pass, and Peter was disheartened by the fact that they had fallen into a routine. Two bathroom breaks a day, two meals, and then usually something unpleasant in between. He had hoped that the miserable day with the headphones and glasses had been a one time thing, but it turned out to be just the start of many experiments. Fields, after some prodding and unusually good behavior from Peter, eventually did explain a little of what he was doing. The first day had been to test which sounds and lights had the greatest effect on his senses, and the following sessions were used to, in Field’s words, help Peter “grow accustomed” to the stimulation. Apparently HYDRA didn’t like that Peter could be knocked out of commission by something as simple as sound and light, so now, for a couple hours a day, Peter was taken to a room with Fields and at least one of his scientists. He was forced to wear the headphones, glasses, or sometimes both, and then proceed to complete a series of different tasks during and after the lights and sound. 

The only reason he was able to handle the new tests at all was because they started him out with the stimulants he’d previously reacted to the least. They were looking for ways to build up his endurance against hypersensitivity, and refused to listen when Peter told them it wasn’t going to work. They’d torture his senses for a while, and then make him perform a series of mental and physical exercises. They’d force him to read long passages aloud (usually from something complicated like Shakespeare), solve extensive math problems, or play coding games on a computer screen. He also had to run on a treadmill, walk back and forth across a balance beam, and avoid rounds from rapidly-shooting pellet guns. None of the tests were easy when his head was exploding and his vision was a swirling, blurry mess. Even his spidey-sense was off, firing randomly to tell him he was in danger, but never focusing on what he needed it to. He repeatedly failed the experiments, and the only good thing about his lack of progress was that it prevented Fields from worsening the sounds and lights. If he couldn’t function under the less intense levels, then there was really no reason to up the ante.

It was their thirteenth day in captivity, nearly two weeks, and Peter was thrust back into their cell after the day’s tests. It was depressing, but they were all getting used to his returns. As always, he immediately collapsed onto the floor, lying on his stomach and pressing his cheek against the cold tile. He wrapped his arms around his slamming head, closed his sore eyes, and waited for the worst of it to pass. His senses never settled down completely anymore, but the pain would get better an hour or two after the experiments were done. 

Bucky and Steve had figured out how to best help him only a few days into the experiments, and their reaction to his return had grown standard. They covered him with his blanket and sat beside him on the floor. Knowing that sound hurt, they didn’t speak a word, but made sure he understood he wasn’t alone. Steve gently massaged his neck at the base of his skull. The first time he had tried it, Peter had shied away. He hadn’t wanted to accept the help at first, but as the days passed he had given in. The stress and nearly constant pain were wearing on him, and he was no longer able to object to anything that brought relief. As Steve’s fingers worked away some of the tension, Bucky carefully removed the pellets that had embedded themselves in Peter’s skin. He was always hit by more than he managed to dodge, and though they didn’t usually draw blood, they stung and left bruises that his factor was no longer healing as quickly as it should have been.

Peter wanted to be strong, but the longer he was with HYDRA, the less he felt like fighting back. He didn’t think he was alone in that either. Steve was still taken every two or three days for his own tests, from which he always returned either exhausted or injured, if not both. Sometimes he would tell them what happened, like the time they decided to test how much of his blood they could draw before he required a transfusion just to stay alive, but other days he was completely mum. Bucky had only been taken for one or two tests himself, but mentally he seemed worse off than any of them. Peter figured the stress of being back with the people who had tormented him for so long, along with trying to help Steve and Peter when they were hurt, was starting to make him crack. His panic attacks had begun a little before the one week mark, and had reached the point where he suffered through them two or three times a day. During one of the bad ones, where Bucky had crunched up in a corner of the room, shaking, banging his head against the wall, and screaming at Steve and Peter any time they tried to come near, Steve had mentioned something about PTSD. As if that hadn’t been obvious. However, when he wasn't having an attack, Bucky kept himself remarkably calm. Without having witnessed the bad moments, Peter probably wouldn’t have known the toll that this was taking on the soldier.

“Come on, you’ve got to sit up and eat something.” Steve spoke at a whisper, but the sound still made Peter want to rip his ears off. He had heard the plastic clatter of their dinner tray being thrust through its usual slot, feeling mildly surprised that he’d been lying there long enough for them to be fed. Most days he at least made it to his cot before evening arrived. He wondered if Fields had kept him later than usual, or if he had been sprawled on the floor longer than he’d thought. 

“Not yet.” The thought of movement seemed about as appealing as a lunch date with Fields. 

“Can you try?” Bucky was also whispering, and though Peter appreciated that, he longed for silence. “You skipped dinner yesterday, remember?” 

He did remember. He was hungry constantly, but with the headaches and vertigo he had an incredibly difficult time keeping anything down. Sometimes it was easier not to eat at all than to risk vomiting up everything in his stomach. He knew the lack of nutrients was making him ill. He felt physically weaker than he ever had; he was always cold now, and he’d begun becoming light-headed every time he stood up. He also ached all over, his ribs and clavicles protruding to the point where it was uncomfortable to lie on them. Even Fields had become concerned by his severe weight loss, making him drink a large protein shake every day before the tests began. The professor would look troubled, not over Peter’s comfort, but likely his health, on the days he’d throw up the shake shortly into the experiments. It happened more often than not.

“You need to start moving a little before Squirt and Flush get here,” Steve said when Peter didn’t respond. The guards who took them to the bathroom twice a day had never shared their names, and on a particularly boring morning about a week ago, the three of them had come up with the nicknames. They’d laughed harder over it than they should have, and had been using the titles behind the men’s backs ever since. 

“Don’t wanna,” Peter mumbled. 

“I know,” Bucky said. “But you’ve gotta. Up you go.” Without waiting for further protest, the soldier gripped Peter under the arms and pulled him very slowly into a seated position. The motion made the room spin violently and heightened the shattering headache, even though Bucky was careful. He scooted Peter toward his cot until he was able to lean against it, head tilted back against the mattress. 

“You okay?” It was Steve. They were both still beside him. He gave them a shaky thumbs up, eyes only half-lidded. He felt like garbage.

Bucky grabbed the dinner tray and returned to them. “Mmm, spaghetti with discolored meat sauce! Just like mama used to make. You ready for some, Pete?” 

He knew they weren’t going to leave him alone until he had something, and honestly that was probably for the best even though he was not at all convinced he’d keep it down. “Can I just start with a drink, please?” 

“You’ve got it.” Steve poured and handed him a cup of red liquid. 

“Thanks.” Peter made himself take a gulp, all too aware that he was, as usual, becoming dehydrated. The drink turned out to be a sickly sweet fruit punch that tasted more like medicine than the cherry flavor it was supposed to resemble. He got down half the cup before setting it on the floor beside him and taking deep breaths, willing his swimming stomach to calm down. 

“Ready to have some food?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t think I can.” 

His companions wouldn’t take no for an answer. Peter had yet to become entirely comfortable around the two Avengers, but as the days passed their trust in one another continued to grow stronger. It came more from necessity than anything else. It was hard to remain guarded when you spent every day hurting, afraid, and physically and mentally drained. They had all developed an unofficial pact to take care of one another when they were beaten down. So far it was keeping them afloat, if barely. That was why Peter didn’t protest as much as he wanted to when Bucky and Steve harassed him into finishing his drink and eating most of his bowl of spaghetti. The portion sizes remained small, so it probably shouldn’t have felt like such a victory to have eaten less than an entire bowl. Peter was mostly just glad he hadn’t thrown it up, because the sugar and calories did alleviate some of the spinning in his head. 

After eating, Peter finally felt strong enough to pull himself off the floor. He sat on his cot, holding his pillow and watching the soldiers inhale their own meals. Though they hadn’t grown quite as thin as Peter, they had both obviously lost weight from the puny portions. They never complained, though. At least not beyond the taste and, on Bucky’s part, the continued lack of morning coffee. 

Squirt and Flush arrived only a few minutes after they had finished, and though Peter did not feel at all like trying to walk, his bladder insisted that he make an attempt. Squirt, the taller of the two men, was not forgiving when Peter stumbled against him on the way down the hall, but Flush was slightly more patient, locking a hand around his shoulder and keeping him somewhat steady. The continued dizziness and unfocused vision made for an exhausting combination, and Peter was relieved when they made it back to the cell and he was able to flop onto his cot. He didn’t voice it, but he was getting worried. The effects of the day’s experiments didn’t usually remain this intense for so long. He wondered if his body was giving up. If his senses had finally had enough. 

“What’s going to make this better, Peter?” The question came from Bucky’s cot a few minutes after lights out. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re not snapping out of it like you usually do. Did something new happen? You were gone longer than usual.” 

“I was? I couldn’t tell for sure.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Steve said. 

“It was the same as always,” he told them. “I’m just...I don’t feel right.” 

“We can tell,” Bucky said. 

“My senses won’t settle down.” He had finally explained to them about his issues with oversensitivity. It wasn’t like he could exactly hide it after Fields decided to trigger his overloads every day.

“Hasn’t that been an issue for a while?” Steve said. 

“Yeah. I think it’s just a little worse. I’m hoping I can sleep it off.” 

“Does that mean be quiet?” Bucky asked. 

“In the nicest possible way?” Peter suggested, not wanting to be rude. His ears were killing him.

His companions went immediately silent after that, and Peter did end up falling asleep fairly quickly. That was never a guarantee in this place. Peter had spent many nights since their capture either lying awake in the darkness of the room or pacing the floor, walls, and ceiling until dawn. The discomfort and nerves made peaceful rest difficult, and Peter knew he wasn’t alone in that. Every time he spent an entire night awake, he always heard at least one, if not both, of the super soldiers tossing and turning along with him. The nights any of them actually got any rest were counted as huge wins.

If there was any upside to Peter having his senses tortured every day, it was that the morning wake up calls had become significantly more gentle since the tests had begun. Instead of the piercing screeching noise and blinding lights, they were now awakened daily by an annoying, but not painful, buzzing sound. The lights had also begun to brighten gradually in place of the instant assault to which they had grown accustomed. That was a definite improvement, but it didn’t stop Bucky from groaning and throwing his pillow at the wall when the alarm started. Over the days, Peter had learned that the man was in no way a morning person. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Peter said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

“Don’t be a brat,” Bucky grumbled. He sat up, stretched, and dragged both hands down his face. “How are you feeling?” 

“I think I’m alright.” It was the truth. He still felt a little sensitive, but for the most part the overload had calmed. Talking at a normal volume was no longer painful, and the nausea-inducing headache had simmered to a dull ache in the back of his skull. He’d have to enjoy it while he could, because it was only a matter of time before he was back in that room with Fields. 

“You look better,” Steve said. He was up, sitting with his legs slung over the edge of his cot and facing Peter. “Your eyes were totally glazed over last night, but it seems like you’re focusing now.” 

“I am.” 

“Good, because that was honestly a bit unsettling.” 

“Sorry to have worried you.” Peter stood and began his morning stretches. They were all feeling a little stiff and out of shape from having now spent two weeks in a confined space. He reached for the ceiling, touched his toes, and rotated his body in every direction that came to mind. It didn’t take long for the soldiers to join him. They’d begun finding ways to stay active throughout the day, to stave off both boredom and atrophy. They were just finishing up when Squirt and Flush arrived. 

The bathroom break and following several hours remained predictable. They ate dry oatmeal for breakfast and made conversation while respectively pacing, doing push ups, and hanging upside down from the ceiling. The lack of engaging stimuli was becoming as trying as the fear and discomfort. The room where they spent the majority of their time, though large for a cell, felt incredibly cramped between the three of them. There was no privacy, very little space for physical exercise, and zero means of entertainment. Bucky had already gotten himself shocked once by rudely suggesting a television, and Steve had just gotten a dirty look when he’d requested some books. They were meant to be bored, and it was making Peter crazy. 

He couldn’t remember having ever spent an entire day in Queens without stepping outside, and now it had been two weeks without so much as getting a glimpse out a window. There were times when he would fall into a fit of claustrophobia and be certain the walls were closing in on him, or that the ceiling itself was coming down. He’d never been good at being confined, even the classrooms in school were sometimes a challenge, and his fear of being trapped had only gotten worse after the warehouse incident with Toomes. During the moments when the suffocating feelings became overwhelming, all he could do was close his eyes, dig his fingernails into his arms, and wait for the panic to pass. 

He tried not to make a show of it when he was feeling that way, but only succeeded in keeping it hidden at night when it was too dark for his companions to see him. The better Peter came to know the super soldiers, the more he realized that Steve and Bucky were both highly intuitive. Even when he didn’t say a word, they could tell when he was feeling particularly trapped or homesick, and they always talked casually about the Avengers, New York in the 30s and 40s, or any number of other distracting topics until he was feeling calmer. Half the time they wouldn’t even comment on the fact that he’d been melting down in the first place. He was glad for that, but if he was being honest with himself he was even happier not to be alone. He still felt embarrassed when he was anything less than at the top of his game, but survival and sanity dictated that he sometimes allow himself to be taken care of. He was certain that the duo still saw themselves as a team, and viewed Peter as more of a scared child who needed looking after. It bothered him, and he would have been much harder on himself if he had been the only one having breakdowns. He wasn’t. Steve had days where he seemed too depressed to even hold up a conversation, and though that was concerning, it was nothing compared to Bucky. Of the three of them, he was unarguably the one who was cracking mentally. 

Peter didn’t know if it was the PTSD from having been captured by HYDRA before, or the fact that he spent more time alone in the cell than anyone, but Bucky was starting to seem unstable. The panic attacks were frequent and seemed exhausting, but on top of that he had begun occasionally screaming in his sleep. He even had moments of violence, but it was fortunately never targeted at Steve or Peter. It was more that his patience with their situation had become non-existent. He had begun getting himself shocked most days now by shouting insults at their captors, and sometimes even trying to attack them. The only time it seemed worth it was when he was miraculously able to get ahead of the bracelet’s automatic shocking mechanism and throw a plastic drink pitcher at Browning’s head while the man had been collecting Peter. It didn’t do a ton of damage, and Bucky was on the ground a half second after launching the assault, but it had been satisfying to see the older man’s bloody lip. That had been a good day, but it did little to assuage Peter’s uneasy feeling that Bucky was on a dangerous downward trajectory. From Steve’s expressions, he could tell that the captain had similar concerns, though neither of them had actually spoken about it out loud. 

The day was currently going smoothly, but Peter could sense that enough time had passed for him to be taken for his daily overload. As if on cue, the door opened the moment the thought had crossed his mind. He had been expecting only one scientist or guard, as had become the norm, and was startled when he instead saw three people in the doorway. Simmons, Meldon, and Glasses (whose real name Peter had finally figured out was Port) were all gathered together. He figured that probably didn’t bode well, but was used enough to the routine that he didn’t want to cause any trouble. He walked wordlessly to the small group, but rather than leading him down the hall as usual, the scientists continued to stare expectantly into the room. It was Simmons who spoke up. 

“You too, Captain Special. No trouble, now.” 

Steve looked confused, but had the sense not to argue. He and Peter were growing accustomed to being taken for various experiments, but they had never been collected together. As Steve began toward the door, Bucky was unable to keep his mouth shut. Peter groaned internally. His outbursts never went well. 

“What the hell is going on?” He was on his feet, fists clenched at his sides. 

“Buck, don’t,” Steve muttered. 

“No! Tell me where you’re taking them!” He was shouting at the scientists, but was completely ignored. Simmons placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Port did the same to Steve. They were guided out into the hallway, but when the door began to slide closed, Bucky lunged. He was shocked, obviously, but had gained enough momentum that when he went limp it was in the doorway, his body keeping the entrance open. 

Port let out a breath of annoyance. “Seriously?” 

Bucky’s limbs might have been paralyzed, but his voice still worked. “Don’t you fucking take them!” 

“Stop this,” Meldon said, crouching down in front of Bucky. Out of all the guards and scientists, Peter had learned that she was the most gentle and forgiving. She always did her job, no matter how scary and painful it was, but never seemed to go out of her way to be cruel. He still hated her. She was HYDRA, after all, but if Peter had to choose someone to perform his tests, she was the best option. He knew that Simmons and Port would have kicked Bucky back inside the cell without a second thought, but Meldon was patient enough to push him carefully back inside by the shoulders. He was screaming more obscenities when the door slid closed. 

No matter how many times Peter was led down the halls, he felt like he never became any more familiar with the layout of the place. Everything was sterile and identical, the doors they passed were evenly spaced and made of matching, flawless steel. He had no idea how the people working there knew where to go. That didn’t mean he ever stopped looking for an exit or opportunity to act, but so far he’d had no success. The only difference from any other time he’d been led down the halls was that today they seemed to walk a little longer. 

When they were finally led into one of the rooms, the first thing Peter noticed was that it was much larger than any of the others he had visited. He was used to small rooms, metal tables, treadmills, and balance beams, but this room was more of an arena. It was wide, had high ceilings, and was brightly, but not painfully, lit. Most of the floor was also covered by a sizable training mat, though the tiled walls remained bare. Professor Fields stood near one of the walls, but other than that the room was empty.

“Good morning, Peter, Captain Rogers,” Fields said once the door had latched behind them. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I have brought you here together.” 

“You think?” Peter couldn’t help it. Some days he didn’t feel like fighting; he’d follow the man’s orders without a word of spiteful commentary, but today he was frustrated. He didn’t like that Steve was with him, because that almost certainly meant they were both going to be hurt, and he was mad about what had happened to Bucky. 

“I know you have recently grown accustomed to a certain routine, but today we are going to try something different. I have extensively tested each of you, but I have yet to see you stand against one another. In short, I would like you to spar. I need to know how you’d fare as opponents. Who would come out on top.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You want us to fight?” It sounded ridiculous. Fields would never get them to actually hurt each other, and Peter already knew the answer to his question. Steve could flatten him if he wanted to. The captain had come out on top in Germany, and according to Mr. Stark, he hadn’t even been giving it his all at the time. With training Peter might eventually be able to hold his own, but as of now he was nowhere near that point.

“Put simply, yes. Please walk to the center of the mat and face one another.” 

Peter still felt more skeptical than anything, but followed Steve when he began toward the mat. The captain only spoke when they were in position. “This is no big deal, Pete. It’s just like a training session. The Avengers spar all the time, and we’ve done this before, remember?” He gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Not so fast,” Fields said. “I don’t want either of you acting under the wrong impression. This is not training. I want you both to fight as though you are battling for your lives. I do not want you concerned with how badly you are injuring your opponent. You need to give it your all, and you may only stop when I give the order to do so.” 

“Yeah, not going to happen, Dolt,” Peter spat. Was the man serious? 

“Don’t argue, Peter,” Steve said softly, levelheaded as always. “Just give him a show. I won’t hurt you.” Peter hadn’t been worried about that. He was really just confused that Fields thought they would attack each other that brutally.

“Begin,” the professor ordered. “And remember what I said.” 

This was ludicrous. Steve didn’t even have his shield, and all of Peter’s usual advantages were missing. No web shooters, no buildings to climb and gain the high ground, and nothing to hide behind. His fighting was all speed, stealth, and agility. Hand-to-hand combat was only ever used as a last resort, and against Captain America it was a joke. However, Steve was following orders, and he stepped forward, swinging a fist toward Peter’s head. He ducked beneath it easily and countered with a leg swipe, but Steve managed to avoid it. The fight continued like that for a few minutes, all swinging and dodging. It was obvious that neither of them was actually trying very hard. Especially Steve. 

Peter was hoping that Fields would realize this wasn’t going to go anywhere when lightning suddenly shot through every one of his limbs and lit his spine on fire. Steve hadn’t touched him, and he had no idea where the pain was coming from, but it was completely intolerable. He shrieked, his legs collapsing beneath him as he rolled onto his side in a twitching heap. Only then did the pain stop as suddenly as it had begun, leaving him panting and a little sore, but otherwise okay. He didn’t move. Without knowing what had triggered it, he didn’t want to risk awakening the agony again. Steve was on his knees beside him. “Peter, what happened?” 

“I told you this fight needed to be real,” Fields spoke calmly without moving from his spot against the wall. The other three scientists were beside him, once again scribbling notes on their clipboards. 

“What did you do?” Steve demanded. 

“Did you really think your bracelets had only one function?” the professor asked. “Just because I have not used them to hurt you before does not mean I won’t begin. What Peter just experienced was one of the lower settings. If I suspect either of you is not giving it his all, I will hurt your opponent for you. Is that what you want?” 

Finally understanding what had happened, Peter climbed to his feet. Steve followed, looking horrified. This was bad. Peter never wanted to feel anything like that again, and couldn’t believe a low setting had hurt him that badly. At least it didn’t linger much. He met Steve’s gaze. “I think we have to do this.” 

“Was it that bad?” he whispered, knowing only Peter would hear. 

“It was unbelievable. You have to do this for real. You know I can’t beat you.” He moved into a fighting stance, and Steve mirrored him. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re faster than I am.” 

Peter gave a small nod, knowing that he was about to get his ass handed to him. No matter what Steve said, he couldn’t win this. They began again, and Peter dodged two more attacks before Steve’s fist landed square across his jaw. Peter’s body was thrown in a half-spin before hitting the ground. He got back up quickly enough to avoid Steve’s follow-up blow, but his ears were ringing. He rotated his jaw a few times. Mr. Stark hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the captain had pulled his punches in Germany. Jeez. Steve’s eyes were filled with nothing but remorse, but with Fields’ threat hanging over them, he couldn’t lay off.

The fight continued, and though Peter got in a few sneaky hits after utilizing his spins, rolls, and backflips, he had basically become Captain America’s punching bag. He knew he would have done better if he had his webs, but that was wishful thinking. Steve was hitting him hard. He’d softened up a little, missing a few easy openings and letting Peter get a kick in after one of his ribs had audibly cracked, but moments after that the lightning returned. When Fields had finally let up, Peter begged Steve not to give him any more freebies. He swore the shocks hurt more than the broken bones. 

They were forced to keep at it for at least a couple hours. Anyone else would have toppled, but they were both enhanced. Steve had pleaded with Fields to give them a break after Peter’s head hit the ground hard enough to leave him seeing stars, but the man refused, threatening the bracelet again. Their only option was to keep going, even when they were both drenched in sweat, blood, and bruises. Peter had landed enough hits for Steve to have a bloody nose, black eye, and possibly fractured shin. The captain was a mess, so Peter didn’t even want to consider what he must look like. He’d taken three times the hits that he had landed. His head was spinning, his vision had annoying black spots in it, he felt nauseous, and there wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t ache or throb. He’d heard and felt enough cracks at this point to know he had at least a half dozen fractured, if not broken, bones. 

“Please stay down,” Steve whispered when Peter hit the ground yet again. He could tell it was killing the soldier to beat him to a pulp, and though he wanted to remain on the ground more than just about anything, he couldn’t risk the shock. He pushed himself up, moaning at the movement, and made a sloppy lunge toward the captain. Steve countered, knocking him flat again. Peter could tell he hadn’t used his whole strength on that one, but hopefully Fields wouldn’t notice. 

“Stay down,” Steve begged again. 

“I can’t.” 

In truth, he was getting scared. He wasn’t used to losing fights. Any time he’d gotten in over his head before, he’d been able to have Karen call Mr. Stark, or at the very least make a run for it. Right now his only option was to take it and defend himself the best he could. The latter really wasn’t working. 

Steve waited for him to find his feet, and Fields allowed it. Gathering strength he didn’t know he had left, Peter threw himself into a high backflip, soaring over Steve’s head to stand behind him. He’d kicked him hard in the spine before he was able to turn around, sending him flat on his face. He got in one more kick to the ribs before Steve managed to turn, grabbing his leg and giving it a powerful twist. He was thrown off his feet, landing roughly on his back and feeling something pop where his thigh connected to his hip. He screamed and squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that Steve was trying to keep him down physically since his pleading hadn’t worked. He was successful. Peter was done. 

Fortunately, Fields seemed to recognize that too, as no shock came when Peter didn’t so much as attempt to get back up. “You may stand down, Rogers.” 

“Thank, God!” He was on his knees in an instant, cupping Peter’s face with one sweaty hand. Peter’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t see straight. 

“You win,” he spoke through clenched teeth. Everything hurt. 

“I’m so sorry.” He looked it. It was obvious the guilt was eating him alive. 

“Me too.” 

“Well done,” Fields congratulated, coming to stand beside them for the first time. “Port and Meldon, you may take Captain Rogers down the hall to get patched up. Simmons and I will stay here with Peter.” 

“He’s had enough!” Steve growled, finally losing some of his carefully-constructed composure. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, but his expression was livid. 

“I agree,” Fields spoke calmly. “I intend only to check over the injuries you inflicted.” 

Steve was still glaring when he was led, limping, to the door with Port and Meldon on either side, but his voice softened for Peter. “It’s going to be okay, Peter. Bucky and I will see you later. You can do this. I’m so sorry. Just hang in there.” The words were encouraging, even though there was no way of knowing if there was any truth to them. Before Peter could even think about replying, the door had closed, and Steve was gone. Fields and Simmons both crouched beside him, Simmons clutching a leather bag in one hand. Peter felt like he couldn’t move, and only prayed that Fields had been telling the truth about taking care of his injuries. He was actually glad the professor was there, as it was clear Simmons hadn’t forgiven him for breaking his nose. Fields was evil, but Peter didn’t think he’d let Simmons torture him for no reason. At least, that’s what he hoped. At the moment he had no energy left to defend himself, no matter what they chose to do. It was a powerless and terrifying feeling to be entirely at their mercy. After all, HYDRA wasn’t known for having much of that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing to feel the love for all my readers!! Your support and comments are awesome, as always! Thank you!!

After the fight with Steve, Fields and Simmons spent only a few minutes on an initial assessment of his injuries. A large part of Peter wanted to scream at them to keep their hands off his body, but he thought better of it. Though he let out a few hisses of pain when they’d press on a broken rib or rotate a limb in an uncomfortable way, Peter realized that they weren’t going out of their way to hurt him. They muttered to each other, and Peter caught most of it: 

“Might be broken.” 

“Dislocated hip.” 

“Definitely a concussion.” 

“Need to be careful until we know if there’s spinal damage.” 

None of the words were comforting, but he was having trouble feeling as worried about them as he knew he should. He laid on his back, blinking sluggishly up at the spinning ceiling. He’d had concussions before, so the dizziness and mushy feeling in his brain were not entirely unfamiliar. He couldn’t decide which was greater; the urge to throw up, or the temptation to fall asleep. He fought both. Heaving would definitely hurt, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to pass out with a concussion. If there had been any question of that, Fields had also ordered him to stay awake. 

It didn’t take the two men long to decide he needed to be moved. He thought he heard something about x-rays, but couldn’t be sure. It was starting to feel like his ears had been stuffed full of cotton. He could still hear, but the sounds were muffled. He must have missed it when Fields radioed for assistance, because he was still able to feel mild surprise when Port and Browning joined them, carrying a stretcher. He wondered for a second why Port was no longer with Steve, but let the question dissolve when he was rolled onto the stretcher, crying out at the motion. He heard someone telling him to stay still, and hands pressed against his shoulders and thighs to help him in that. He was lifted, and the room shifted so violently that he must have passed out for a few minutes. 

When consciousness returned he was in a different room that was more of what he was used to. It was smaller than the arena, filled with rolling carts and monitors, and he was strapped down on a padded table. His arms and head were locked firmly in place, but his legs actually seemed to be free. It also felt like there was a pillow under his head, which was unexpected. He had been conditioned to expect experiments and pain when he was restrained, so the added comfort felt a little disorienting. Or maybe that was just his head injury. 

His world remained unfocused, but he was aware enough to know that the next several hours were spent surrounded by Fields, Simmons, Port, and Browning. He was stripped naked, which was embarrassing, but only had to stay that way a few minutes. They checked over his injuries, and once severe spinal damage and internal bleeding were ruled out, the restraints were briefly removed. They dressed him in a loose hospital gown before once again locking his arms and head in place. Somewhere deep in the back of his sloppy brain was a voice telling him that he should feel violated, but he just couldn't summon the energy or focus to care that much. 

Nothing they did was comfortable, but the worst part was when Browning, Port, and Simmons moved to his waist. The latter two positioned themselves on his left side, pressing down on his thigh and calf to keep him still, while the older man moved to his right. Humiliatingly, the gown was lifted above his pelvis, but Peter was still aware enough to realize Browning’s focus was only on his right hip. The entire area was purpled and badly swollen, and if Peter had been forced to choose one area that hurt the most, this was definitely it. The ball joint at the top of his femur had been dislocated from its hip socket. At least that’s what the men said. 

Fields appeared at the top of the table, pressing his hands against either side of Peter’s head and attempting to make him focus. He explained that Browning was about to shift the joint back into place, and advised Peter to fight it as little as possible. Even before his concussed brain could put all the pieces of that together, Browning’s hands were on his thigh. There was a bit of rotating, and then a hard shove and a lot of pressure as the scientist forced the joint home. With nothing to numb the agony that brought, all Peter could do was arch his back the little he was able and scream. It was awful, so awful, and he could feel Simmons and Port struggling to keep his left side still. If he’d been more with it, he had no doubt that he would have kicked them both across the room with little effort. As it was, they had the upper hand, and that might not have been the worst thing. They held him still enough for Browning to finish relatively quickly, and as soon as his leg was back in its socket, the pain lessened considerably. It was still a throbbing, sickening knot of hurt, but it was nothing like it had been. Browning lowered his gown back down to his knees, and all four men moved from their restricting positions. 

Fields left the room after that, apparently unwilling to waste any more of his time on Peter’s injuries. The other three men remained, continuing to check him over and bandage him up where he needed it. Steve had really done a number on him. Even through his haze, he made out that he had three broken ribs, a sprained wrist, two broken toes on his right foot, a bruised kidney, and countless cuts and bruises. All that was in addition to his concussion and dislocated hip. He was in and out of consciousness while they treated him, but was scolded every time he blacked out for a little while. He really wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, but it just felt so good to rest his reeling head and escape the pain for short blips. 

Peter had expected to be led back to the cell he shared with Steve and Bucky when the scientists (doctors?) had finally finished with him, but instead he ended up spending the rest of the day in the room where he’d been treated. The restraints were eventually removed, but he was told in no uncertain terms that he was not to leave the table. He would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been so dizzy. He didn’t think he could so much as sit up, and even if he had been able to, they didn’t leave him alone the entire day. 

After getting patched up, the lab coats took shifts staying with him and making sure he didn’t fall asleep. He was given water on two occasions, which he gulped down appreciatively even though it made his stomach lurch, and offered a bowl of soup once, which he refused. The concussion had him feeling so nauseous that there was no reason to tempt fate by putting food in his stomach. At one point Flush arrived with a bedpan. It was humiliating, but he used it to empty his bladder, and even felt a little satisfied when the man wrinkled his nose when he had to carry the urine away. The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur, and he only knew night had fallen when the lights dimmed and he was finally left alone. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, but he learned, with a groan, that one of the scientists arrived every hour to wake him up. He knew it was standard practice for a head injury, but it still felt like torture when he was this tired and beaten down. 

Peter was still exhausted by the time morning arrived, but they at least had the decency to wake him gently, only raising the lights a little. He still felt like he’d been hit by a bus, or ten buses, or a freaking super soldier, but was feeling better than he had the previous day. It was good to know that, though slower, his healing factor had not entirely abandoned him. He still had a headache, and he was dizzy, but the nausea and most violent spinning seemed to have passed. At the moment he was alone, and he decided it was a good time to see if he was able to sit up. His movements were incredibly ginger, but he eventually made it up, hissing through his teeth. His hip a throbbing mass of misery, his ribs ached with each breath, and he almost felt like he was being stabbed in his lower left back where one of Steve’s kicks had bruised his kidney. He was so uncomfortable, but did his best to be grateful that his sprained wrist, broken toes, and less severe bruises weren’t really bothering him anymore. 

Small wins, he reminded himself. Live for the small wins. It was a mantra Mr. Stark had drilled into him any time they were struggling over a particularly complicated problem in the lab. His mentor liked to point out that Peter didn’t have to be victorious right away, as long as he was willing to keep pushing himself until he’d mastered everything that he could. Just take one step at a time. He figured that applied here, and tried to take shallow breaths that wouldn’t hurt his chest so much. Mr. Stark’s advice was helpful, but thinking about him made Peter miss home even more. He’d really thought that Iron Man would have found him by now. He didn’t doubt that the man was searching day and night, but was worried that HYDRA had hidden him this well. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going the way he had been. 

He sat alone for a while until he was eventually joined by Simmons. The man wasn’t exactly gentle when he checked Peter over, shining a penlight into both of his eyes, testing his tracking, and asking him simple questions about his name, the year, and four-plus-four, but he didn’t do anything to outright harm him either. After answering all the questions without trouble, Peter tried to ask him how long he had to stay in the room, but the man refused to give him any information. He pulled out a stethoscope and listened to his breathing, probably making sure none of the broken ribs had punctured a lung, before brusquely telling Peter not to try and stand up and leaving him alone again.

Peter spent most of the day in solitude, trying not to worry too much about Steve and Bucky, and making every effort not to think of Aunt May. He missed her so much it was painful. She didn’t know he was Spider Man, so there had never been any pressure to be more than a teenager with her. When he was depressed, she made him hot chocolate and bought him comic books. When he was frustrated, she gave him space, and when he was sick or hurting she draped blankets over him, took the day off work, and let him lie on the couch with his head in her lap. He knew if he daydreamed hard enough he would almost be able to feel her fingers combing through his hair, but he didn’t let his mind go there. He wanted it too badly. Longing for her would break him, and he desperately needed to stay flexible.

He had expected the day to go by slowly, as he was alone with very little to mentally stimulate him, but he ended up sleeping through most of it. They must have thought he was out of the danger zone, because even though he was visited several more times throughout the day, the scientists checking on him and the guards bringing him breakfast and dinner, they were no longer waking him up every hour. He had eaten his breakfast of what seemed to be off-brand cornflakes, but once again skipped dinner. He was starving, and the plate of sliced ham and green beans looked better than what he was usually served, but he was in too much pain to consider swallowing it. He managed some of the pineapple juice they gave him, but was lying on his back again soon after. His entire body ached, but the worst of it was still coming from his hip. Earlier in the day, in a moment of weakness, he had even pleaded with Meldon to bring him an ice pack. Anything to ease some of the throbbing. She had said she’d speak to Fields about it, but she was either lying, or the professor refused. Either way, Peter never did get the ice. 

Not long after he had abandoned his dinner, Squirt and Meldon entered the room. They approached the table where he was still lying, and Squirt was his usual grumpy self. “Time to go.” 

“Go where?” Peter made himself sit up, wincing all the while. 

“Toilet and shower,” Squirt said. “It’s been three days, and you’re starting to smell.” 

Of all the things that had recently happened, that was somehow what made Peter snap. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been sweating through, oh, I don’t know, torture maybe? What’s your excuse, asshole?” 

Squirt looked like he was ready to clock him, but Meldon quickly held up one hand. “Enough. Peter, I need you to stand.” 

He looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re joking.” 

“We’ll help you,” she said. “But you need to get up.” 

He didn’t want to. He really really really didn’t want to, but the expression on her face told him how serious she was. He knew he didn’t have a choice. He could either listen to her now, or refuse and likely get himself hurt before it happened anyway. He had begun to learn a difficult lesson. HYDRA always won. He slowly turned his body until his legs were dangling above the floor, and then took as deep a breath as his broken ribs could stand before pushing himself off the table. He balanced on his left leg alone, already cringing at the increasing pain on the right side. He had no clue how they expected him to walk. 

“Thank you for cooperating.” Meldon appeared on his left side, draping his arm across her shoulders and locking a hand around his waist, thankfully avoiding his sore hip and kidney. He would have protested the contact if he didn’t need the support. Squirt, still impatient, gave Peter an annoyed look before leading the way out of the room. They followed, slowly, Peter limping and resting at least half of his weight on the woman beside him. To her credit, she kept him steady. He grunted with every step, his hip screaming at him to be still, and was swatting moisture from his eyes by the time they got to the restroom. 

Upon entering the room, he immediately saw Steve and Bucky, visible from the shoulders up, standing in their shower cubicles. The water wasn’t running, so apparently they’d been told to wait for Peter before they started their usual ten minutes. Bucky looked furious as he took in the bruised face, hospital gown, and practically useless right leg, while Steve looked like he’d just learned the world was ending. The guilt in the captain’s blue eyes, despite his swollen nose and black eye, was overwhelming. Peter met his gaze briefly, and felt himself shiver before looking away again. He didn’t blame Steve for what had happened, he didn’t, but looking at him brought back the feeling of fists against Peter’s flesh. Of repeatedly hitting the ground. Of breaking bones. It was easier just to look away. 

“Five minutes for the toilet,” Flush said, startling Peter from his dark thoughts. He’d missed the man standing near the doorway, as his eyes had gone straight to the soldiers when he’d entered. 

Peter hadn’t been offered the bedpan all day, and he was about ready to explode. However, there was no way he’d be able to sit on, or even balance in front of, a toilet. His whole body, but mostly his hip, was hurting too much to even consider such a thing. Screw it. He’d pee in the shower. “I’m good.” 

They didn’t argue with him, and Meldon walked him to the cubicle beside Bucky. She waited until he was supporting himself against the stone divider before releasing her hold, and then helping him pop open the snaps on the side of his gown. She made it easy for him to remove the garment on his own, but allowed him to preserve a little privacy by not making him strip in front of her. She didn’t say anything else before walking from the bathroom, leaving them under the surveillance of the two guards.

“Same drill as always,” Squirt said. “Start the water. You’ve got ten minutes to get clean and get out.” 

Still leaning heavily against the divider, Peter managed to drop his gown and start the water one-handed, but he made no move to step under the spray. Freezing to death on top of everything else seemed incredibly unappealing. Instead he folded his arms on top of the divider, resting his head on them and allowing his right leg to dangle, his left leg and arms taking all of his weight. He jumped a little, hissing at the motion, when he felt a cold hand fall to rest on his wrist. Without lifting his head, he raised his eyes to see Bucky staring at him in concern, water running down his face and long hair.

They’d never been explicitly told not to talk during showers, but in order to save time and spare themselves any awkwardness, they never had. They couldn’t actually see anything besides each other’s heads and shoulders, but it still felt weird to have a conversation while naked. Things were different now, though, pain overpowering the need for dignity, so when Bucky spoke, Peter didn’t give it a second thought. “You’re okay, Peter.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re back with us now.” 

“I know.” He was a little stunned to hear the words leave his lips with such certainty. He’d spoken without thinking, but realized it was true. He’d hated being separated from his companions. As long as they were together, it felt like they could still get through this. Peter was not at all convinced he could do it alone. 

Bucky squeezed his wrist a little harder and gave him a forced smile. “That’s the spirit.” He released his hold then, turning back to his own shower. 

Peter spent another couple minutes leaning against the divider. He closed his eyes, trying not to sway. He wanted to lie down, but knew the shower wasn’t the place to try it. The hard tile would hurt, and he’d only be forced to get up again in a few minutes. He just had to wait it out. He could practically feel Steve staring at him with those wide, remorseful eyes, but continued to make no effort to look at him. 

Maybe half their shower time had passed before Peter finally decided to try stepping under the spray. His skin still felt gritty with the sweat and dried blood from his fight with Steve, and he hoped that maybe the ice water would dull some of his achiness. It was worth a try, so he reached out and gripped the metal neck of the shower head with one hand, using it for support. He was careful not to put any pressure on his right leg as he hauled himself beneath the water. The sharp, freezing sting was as unpleasant as ever, but he wasn’t able to dance in and out of the spray like he usually did. He merely stood there, clinging to the cold metal and willing his body to go numb. There was no chance he could bend down for the bottle of shampoo/body wash, but water was better than nothing. He was soaked and shivering by the time Squirt barked at them to shut the showers off. 

He was able to turn off the water, and reach out with one hand when Flush handed him his towel and clean clothes, but beyond that he couldn’t will himself to move again. One arm was still stretched above his head, keeping him upright by his grip on the shower’s neck, and all he could do was stand there trembling. The ice water had helped a little with the pain, but his uncontrolled movements were now making it so much worse. Pathetic little whimpers were leaving his lips before Bucky appeared in front of him, the standard gray sweatpants and t-shirt sticking to his body, as he clearly hadn't taken the time to dry off. Peter lowered the wad of fabric in his free hand to cover his crotch, but wasn’t able to protect his modesty beyond that. 

“No worries,” Bucky said, clearly having watched the embarrassment flash over Peter’s face. As he spoke, he quickly wrapped his own, dry towel around Peter’s waist before tucking his real arm around his shoulders. “I’ve got you. You can let go now.” He dropped his arm, and Bucky wasted no time in pulling a shirt over Peter’s head, making no comment on the fact that he basically had to hold him to do so. He started to help him with his boxers and pants, but stopped immediately when Peter let out a strangled shriek as his right leg was jostled. The towel was going to have to do for the time being. 

Steve had appeared in front of the cubicle, shifting unhelpfully from foot to foot as if unsure of what to do with himself, when their guards ordered them to head back to the cell. They fortunately didn’t object to Bucky mostly carrying Peter back down the hall, because by that point his vision was going in and out, and the whimpers had turned to full out moans. He thought he might have even passed out for a minute, because before he knew it he was back in his cell, on his cot, and the guards were gone. 

“Easy.” Bucky was leaning over him, his real hand pressing against Peter’s shoulder as Steve covered him with all three of the cell’s blankets. “Eaaasy.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whined out between his moans, humiliated that he couldn’t silence the noises of pain. “I’m sorr...sorry. I’m...sorr…” 

“Don’t be sorry. You’re good.” Bucky’s voice was calm, his military training taking over, but it did nothing to hide the worry in his eyes. “Try and even your breathing. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

Peter closed his eyes again. He needed to escape. He needed to focus on something other than how his body was feeling, because it was already all he could do to keep from screaming. His head was hammering, his kidney was making his lower back ache fiercely, his broken ribs creaked with each breath, and his hip was complete hell. He’d thought the early surgery with the rib spreader was the worst pain he’d ever experienced, but this was starting to rival it. He needed to get away. Even if that just meant disappearing into his mind for a little while. He chose a memory and blocked out everything else.

_ “I hate it when you do that!” Mr. Stark scolded from inside his Iron Man suit. They had just finished tying up a pair of illegal weapons dealers and were on their way back to the compound, and Peter had jumped off a tall building, waiting until he was less than ten feet from the pavement before slinging a web to catch himself.  _

_ “It’s exhilarating!” Peter shouted, briefly webbing himself to the flying suit before swinging toward another building. Mr. Stark let out a short gasp as Peter’s momentum caused him to slightly shift direction, but he righted himself quickly.  _

_ “It’s exhilarating for you. It’s heart-stopping for me. Also, how many times do I have to tell you to, unless you’re dying, keep your sticky crap off my suits?”  _

_ “Sorry!” he called in a tone that let his mentor know he was not, in fact, sorry at all.  _

_ Peter continued swinging while Mr. Stark flew nearby him, and they kept bantering the entire way back to the compound. Their wits matched each other almost perfectly, and they had a similar sense of sarcasm and humor. It led to long arguments that were filled far more with fondness than annoyance, although it did, on occasion, tilt the other direction and lead to someone being told to shut up. Either way, Peter loved it, and he suspected his mentor felt similarly. _

_ Peter had a long weekend from school, and May had agreed to him staying at the compound in order to work on his “internship,” so when they got back and changed out of their suits, they immediately began arguing about what to have for dinner. Mr. Stark wanted steak, while Peter was adamantly in favor of pizza. They had pizza. _

__

_ After they were full, they headed down to the lab to work on one of their shared projects. They tinkered into the night, Mr. Stark listening patiently to Peter prattling on and on the way he always did when he wasn’t actively keeping himself in check. Peter eventually fell asleep sitting up, and it was only then that Mr. Stark shook him awake and sent him to bed. The man didn’t always have a lot of time to spend one-on-one with Peter, so when he did, they made it count. It was a good day. _

“--ood job, Peter. That’s much better.” 

Bucky was mid-sentence when Peter rose back out of the memory. He had no idea how long the man had been talking, but realized his own moans and whimpers had finally gone quiet. His breathing was also a lot steadier than it had been. Everything still hurt like crazy, but he finally felt more in control of it again. He opened his eyes, and realized the lights had gone out while he was daydreaming, though he could feel his cot dipping where Bucky had taken up a seated residence beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice finally more steady. 

“You’ve gotta stop saying that,” Bucky told him. “You did nothing wrong.” 

“I should be handling this better.” 

“You’re handling it fine. I only wish you weren’t in so much pain.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It will be,” Bucky said. “But it scared the hell out of us when you didn’t come back yesterday. Where were you? What did they do?” 

“They didn’t do anything,” Peter said. “I mean, they took some x-rays and stuff after...wait, did Captain Rogers tell you about…?” 

“I told him,” Steve said, his voice sounding like he was only a foot or two away. He had mostly given up on asking to be addressed by his first name. “They sent me back to Bucky pretty soon after our fight.” 

“Are you okay?” Peter had to ask. He may have lost their battle in a big way, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty about the hits he’d landed. It wasn’t like Steve had come out of it unscathed. 

“Yes,” the captain said. “You definitely know how to throw a punch, but I think I had an unfair advantage for this one. Where were you all day?” 

Peter appreciated that Steve was making excuses for having wiped the floor with him. It was true, to an extent. He had been at a disadvantage, but the degree by which he’d lost still would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so distracted by his injuries. “I was just resting,” he answered the question. “They checked me over in this room, and then kind of just left me there most of the day. I think they were worried about my concussion.” 

“So that’s one thing,” Bucky said. “How’s your head now? And what else is wrong?” 

“It hurts,” he said. “But it’s better than yesterday.” 

“Where else are you injured?” Steve repeated Bucky’s question, his voice sounding pained.

“I’m just sort of generally banged up.” 

“Stop it,” Steve said. “You always do that. You’re tough, tougher than I thought considering the number of times you got back up yesterday, but I know what I did to you. I felt and heard your bones breaking, so don’t try to downplay it. Just tell us.” The captain’s voice was choked by the time he finished, clearly disgusted with himself. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Peter said. “I hit you too.” 

“That’s what I’ve been telling him all day,” Bucky said.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I beat the crap out of a kid.” 

“Fifteen,” Peter reminded him. “And super-powered.” 

Truth be told, he was feeling a little frightened of Steve. He meant it when he said that what had happened wasn’t the captain’s fault, and he didn’t think that the man was any threat to him now. He simply wasn’t able to shake the feeling of helplessness that had eventually fallen over him during their fight. Logic told him he had nothing to fear, while the pain in his body made him want to want to flee at the sound of Steve’s voice. He did his best to swallow that feeling down. The man felt bad enough as it was.

“He knows that,” Bucky said. “But you still need to tell us where you’re hurt. Please?” He added the last part when Peter hesitated. 

“A lot of it’s healed already,” Peter finally said. 

“Stop stalling!” Peter flinched when Steve raised his voice, even though he knew the frustration wasn’t directed at him. He was glad it was dark enough that they wouldn’t see it, but the sudden motion hurt. He bit back a brief moan before replying. 

“Dislocated right hip, I think three broken ribs, and a bruised kidney. I promise everything else is pretty much healed already.”

Steve let out a small, upset sound, but Bucky was the one to speak. “There was more? Jeez, Pete. Did they at least give you a pain killer this time?” 

“They don’t work,” he said. “You know that.” 

“They could find something if they tried,” the soldier said angrily.

Peter knew that was probably true. Mr. Stark had spent months paying a team of doctors and scientists to develop a pain medication that would work on Peter. They’d come up with something that took the edge off for an hour or two, but it still wasn’t perfect. Mr. Stark had promised not to give up until they had something more effective. Peter was beginning to believe his mentor hated watching him in pain more than he hated feeling it. The man had flipped a desk, breaking a number of expensive electronics, the time Peter had needed to have his broken arm reset unmedicated.

“I’ll heal,” Peter finally said. “I always do. Sleep will help.” 

“Do you think you can sleep?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah,” he lied. He was confident the pain was going to keep him up for a few hours at least, but he didn’t want his companions worrying over him. They needed their own rest. There was no knowing what tortures the next day might bring. 

“That’s good.” He felt Bucky stand from his seat on the cot, and then listened to both soldiers finding their way to their own beds. “Just don’t hesitate to wake me if you need anything. I mean it.” 

“Same goes for me,” Steve said. “If you can’t sleep, let me keep you company.” 

“Thanks.” 

Steve sighed. “Don’t thank me, Queens. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m not mad.” 

“Still sorry.” 

Peter had no response for that. He listened to his companions getting comfortable for a few minutes before everything was still. He offered them their blankets back, but they both refused. He felt a little guilty, but was mostly grateful that he didn’t have to spend the night cold. Shivering did nothing to help the achiness in his body. He could tell from the sound of their breathing and heartbeats that neither of his companions had fallen asleep. That didn’t change, even as what had to be hours ticked by. Peter started to drift off once, but moved in his sleep and jostled his bad hip. He jerked  awake with a short screech, and then had to spend the next five minutes convincing the worried soldiers that he was all right. That was the last time any of them began to doze. 

The morning alarm eventually sounded, and the lights came up, ending the sleepless night and making way for another day of misery. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Yes, I am still alive! You were probably beginning to wonder. It has been a crazy couple of weeks for me, but the next chapter is FINALLY up!! Hope you like this one, and I'll do all in my power to make the next update much quicker! Thanks so much for sticking with me!!!

Peter was having nightmares. It wasn’t the most uncommon thing in the world. He often had bad dreams about Toomes, disappointing Mr. Stark, and the night Uncle Ben was shot, but these were different. He was dreaming about Steve. He was dreaming about Captain America staring at him with tortured eyes, yet beating the life out of him while Iron Man shouted his name and tried to reach him in time. His mentor was never fast enough, and he always woke up panting in a cold sweat, often with both soldiers staring at him. The looks on their faces made him suspect he was also screaming in his sleep, but they spared him the embarrassment of asking about it. 

It was the third morning since he’d been returned to the cell, and he’d gasped awake in his usual panic at the sound of the alarm. The previous two days had been uneventful. They followed the usual routine, and Port came in once a day to check on Peter’s concussion and broken ribs, but other than that nothing happened. Being given a break from the experiments would have been refreshing if it didn’t have them all so on edge. On the upside, Peter was finally in a lot less pain. His kidney and head had stopped hurting entirely, and though his ribs were a little tender when he moved the wrong way, they weren’t much of a problem anymore. His hip still panged in protest any time he put weight on his right leg, but it was no longer severe enough to keep him from limping back and forth from the bathroom. 

Though he hadn’t noticed it happening, Peter had grown close with Bucky. He couldn’t say when, exactly, the feelings of mistrust and of considering himself an outsider had begun to fade. All he knew for sure was that he now spent much of each day chatting, and even joking, with the soldier. He didn’t deceive himself with any notions of being as important to his companions as they were to each other, but a kinship had definitely developed that hadn’t existed only a short time ago. His relationship with the men no longer felt like survival so much as actual friendship. The only problem was that he was afraid of Steve. 

He tried to ignore it at first. He tried to convince himself it was the concussion and initial shock of having been forced to fight Captain America, but when the feeling didn’t fade after the first day, he was forced to admit to himself that he feared the man. He hated it, because he knew the fear wasn’t rational. Steve had treated him with nothing but respect, kindness even, from the first time they’d met; and that included the airport. He’d also been the constant calm, at times almost even paternal, force since they’d ended up at HYDRA. When Peter was hurting, Steve was usually the one to offer comfort. At least he had been up until their fight. Peter wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or an understanding that Peter needed space that had led to him handing that role to Bucky. 

Peter was trying not to be scared of Steve. He repeatedly told himself he had no reason to be, but the nightmares made the feeling difficult to squash, and his spidey sense wasn’t doing him any favors either. The damn tingle had been overactive for weeks now, so he knew he shouldn’t trust the pangs of warning that shot down his spine and made his arm and neck hairs stand on end; especially since it had started happening every time Steve so much as looked in his direction. It was obvious that the captain felt bad enough without Peter jumping out of his skin every time he tried to talk to him, but the flinching and rises in panic were proving difficult to conceal. Peter had also developed an involuntary habit of backing away any time Steve came within two feet of him, and it was hard to look at the hurt look that fell over the man’s features every time that happened. Given the limited space in the cell, those incidents were more frequent than any of them wanted. It helped when the soldiers, without discussing it with him, traded cots so that Bucky now occupied the bed closest to Peter. He felt guilty that the change came as such a relief. 

“You up, Pete?” At the sound of Bucky’s voice, he realized he had ignored the alarm in favor of pulling the blankets over his head and trying to go back to sleep. Over the past couple days, the soldier had made it his goal to make sure Peter moved around enough. He was still achy, so getting out of bed felt like an annoying amount of effort, but he knew Bucky was right. He couldn’t afford to let himself get stiff. 

“Yeah.” He grudgingly shoved his blanket away and sat up, knowing that if he didn’t stretch and limp around a little before Flush and Squirt arrived that he would be much sorer for it in the long run.

After their restroom break, the morning went as usual until, after finishing their breakfast of cold scrambled eggs, the door opened to reveal Simmons, Meldon, and Port. One look at the trio, and Peter felt like his breakfast might make a reappearance. It was the same group that had taken him to his fight with Steve. Without meaning to, he took a step behind Bucky. The soldier, in turn, shifted to hide him from view. It would do nothing, of course, but the protective maneuver was appreciated all the same. 

“Parker and Barnes today,” Port ordered briskly, as if he were merely seating them at a restaurant.

Peter could practically feel Bucky bristle in front of him. “For what?” 

“Not your place to ask,” Simmons said. “Come.” 

Apparently his rebellious nature was breaking down, because Peter started to take a step forward before Bucky’s arm shot out to the side, freezing him in place. “No.” 

Simmons rolled his eyes. “Can you please, for once, not fight us on this? You know it’s going to happen either way.” 

“I’ll come,” Bucky said, his voice significantly more level than his posture suggested. “But Peter stays.” 

“This isn’t a negotiation.” 

“He’s not healed,” Steve said, appearing beside his friend. “Whatever you need, use me and Bucky.” 

“Professor Fields thinks he’s healed enough, and that’s all that matters here,” Simmons said, sounding less patient by the second. “Last chance to make this easy.”   
“It’s fine,” Peter said, pushing past Bucky’s arm even though every instinct begged him to continue cowering behind him. It wasn’t fine. Nothing about it was even the slightest bit okay, but Peter had been through enough recently to begin choosing his battles a bit more wisely. He limped over to stand beside the scientists, automatically gravitating closest to Meldon. Bucky only hesitated long enough to let out a frustrated growl before joining him. They were led wordlessly into the hall, and got one last look at Steve’s horrified expression before the door slid closed in his face. 

Bucky was stiff, standing close enough beside Peter that their arms kept brushing together as they moved down the halls. When they reached the correct room and stepped inside, it suddenly took all of Peter’s willpower to remain calm. He’d known it was a possibility, but the panic still crashed into him like a tsunami the moment they stepped inside the same arena-like room where he and Steve had sparred. Fields was standing casually against the exact wall where he had been last time, and the three scientists joined him after leading their captives to the center of the matted floors. Peter only realized he was trembling when Bucky’s hand locked around his shoulder. The soldier’s glare was fixed on the professor, but his body language remained protective. 

“I can’t do this,” Peter addressed Fields before anyone could say a word. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” the professor said. 

“You’re going to make us fight,” Peter insisted, clenching his hands into fists to try and stop their shaking. “But you already know what’s going to happen. Mr. Barnes has to be as strong as Captain America, and my hip is still screwed up from that fiasco, so there’s no reas…” 

“Stop,” Fields cut him off mid-ramble. “What will or will not happen is not for you to decide, but I agree that pitting you, unarmed, against Barnes would do very little to further my research. On strength alone, you are clearly no match against the Super Soldier Serum. Today’s test is to see how much of a difference one of your usual upgrades may make.” The professor reached into his suit jacket and produced a small, metallic object that he tossed at Peter. He caught it with ease, one glance showing him that it was a slightly bulkier and much heavier version of one of his web shooters. 

“This isn’t mine.” 

“No. You unfortunately did not have yours on you at the time of your capture, and seeing as I doubted we could commission Stark to send us a copy of his tech, our scientists were forced to develop the closest possible replica.” 

Peter weighed the unfamiliar device in his palm, not bothering to inform the man that he, not Mr. Stark, was responsible for the design of his web shooters and fluid. Let them think he wasn’t smart enough to invent and manufacture them himself. Being underestimated could only work to his favor. 

“So let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Bucky broke his silence. “You’re going to make me fight an injured kid, and all he gets to defend himself is a hunk of crap your brain-damaged cronies pieced together?” Peter wasn’t sure whether he should be offended by Bucky’s lack of faith in his abilities, or grateful that the soldier was trying to defend him. Fields was speaking again before he could decide.

“Allow me to explain the rules. Peter has done this once before, but I am aware that this is new to you, Barnes. The two of you will spar until I give you permission to stop. You will attack and defend yourselves with everything in your power. Failure to do either will result in the suffering of your opponent.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“Don’t!” Peter hissed at Bucky, staring wide-eyed at Fields. He expected the painful shock from his bracelet, but the man merely flashed him a thin-lipped smile. 

“I’ll give you that one,” Fields said. “But next time you will not be so lucky. Peter understands the consequences.” 

“You have to do it,” Peter said, unable to look Bucky in the eye. His breathing had already increased to the point where he’d be hyperventilating if it got any faster. The soldier knew about the shocks. Peter and Steve had explained about the bracelet’s agonizing abilities when he’d questioned why the two had agreed to fight in the first place. He could only pray that Bucky wouldn’t have to test it out for himself. 

“You may begin,” Fields invited. Despite his easy tone, Peter had no doubt it was an order. The makeshift web shooter had a band that could lock around his wrist, and Peter quickly snapped it onto his right arm, just below the bracelet. It felt wrong. It was a little too tight, a little too heavy, and a little too rigid. 

“I won’t hurt him,” Bucky said, his voice as determined as ever. 

“Then that’ll make it easier for me!” Peter cried, doing what he knew he had to in order to protect them both. He leapt into the air, kicking Bucky in the chest hard enough to knock him flat on his back. He’d delivered the kick with his left leg, but still came down hard on the right. He gasped at the pain that radiated through his hip as a result, but knew it wasn’t as bad as the shock would have been. He shot a quick glance at Fields, and the man gave him a small nod before relaxing back against the wall. The scientists were already scribbling at their clipboards, and Peter resisted the urge to test the web shooter out on them. Instead he looked back at Bucky, meeting a shocked expression. “Get up. We don’t have a choice.” 

“I don’t care if I get shocked,” Bucky said, making no move to rise. “I’m not going to attack you.” 

Peter let out a huff. Why wasn’t Bucky getting this? He delivered another kick to the soldier’s ribs, holding back only a little to keep Fields from becoming impatient. “You won’t get shocked unless I stop. You have to fight back, or I’m the one who’s going to get hurt.” 

A mixture of realization and horror dawned in Bucky’s eyes. “What?” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. If I stop, you get shocked. If you stop, it’s me. Please!” He was getting desperate. He knew he was going to end up in pain no matter what, but he didn’t want to make it worse than absolutely necessary. 

“Shit!” Bucky hissed the word in barely more than a whisper, finally rising to his feet, one arm tucked around his ribs. Peter knew they were at least bruised, if not fractured, from his kicks. That, however, did not stop the soldier from immediately taking a swing with his real arm. Peter hadn’t been expecting it, and the blow landed across his cheek. It hurt a little, but Bucky had obviously put minimum strength behind it. Before Peter could protest, a scream was ripped from deep in his throat as a familiar bolt of pain shot through his limbs and down his spine. His legs gave out, and all he could do was curl up on his side and wait for the shocks to end. Fortunately, Fields only kept him under it for several seconds.

“He tried to tell you,” the professor addressed Bucky. “You can’t hold back.” 

“Asshole!” Bucky had already lost any semblance of calm, shaking with rage from where he had dropped down beside Peter. “You okay?” 

Peter sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m okay, but you’ve gotta hit me harder. There aren’t words for how much that hurts, and I think there are higher settings.” 

“There are,” Fields said. 

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky rose, pulling Peter up beside him. 

“Me too!” Peter swung again, attempting to punch Bucky across the jaw, but this time his arm was caught in the hold of the metal arm. The soldier threw him backwards, hard, but Peter managed to twist his body in the air and land in a graceful crouch. Bucky gave him a forced grin. 

“I guess this is one method of learning about your abilities.” 

“That’s a positive way of looking at it.” He dodged to the side when Bucky took a swing at his face, and would have also avoided the blow the soldier countered at his legs if his hip hadn’t given out. He stumbled for balance, and Bucky’s foot connected with his shins, sending him toppling. He was down for less than a second before leaping back to his feet and taking a jab at Bucky’s stomach. The metal arm deflected the hit before smashing upward into his nose. Peter cried out, staggering backwards and covering his throbbing nose with his hands. It was gushing from both nostrils, forcing Peter to spit out a mouthful of blood that had leaked past his lips. He heard Simmons chuckling, but couldn’t afford to spare the man a glance. Bucky, despite looking distraught, was already closing in on him again.

“Use your webs,” he muttered, low enough so that only Peter would hear. 

“Don’t wanna,” he said, dropping his hands and dodging another attack. He managed to knee Bucky in the stomach, making the man grunt in pain. It didn’t slow him down for long. 

“Why the heck not?” Bucky winced in sympathy when his fist found Peter’s shoulder. Yeah, that was definitely going to bruise.

“This thing feels wrong.” He ducked around a punch to his middle, only to have a metal fist land in the center of his back, knocking him onto all fours. Damn that hurt.

“More wrong than this?” Bucky demanded as Peter rolled to avoid a kick to the side. 

Bucky had a point, but Peter did not want to use the webs unless he absolutely had to. It wasn’t as though Fields had given him a chance to test it out. There was no way to know if the shooter would work properly, or if the webs would hurt Bucky more than he wanted to. He was determined to leave it as a very last resort. They stopped talking, and the fight continued for some time. To Peter’s dismay, it wasn’t going much better than his battle with Steve. Without the high ground, full agility, or his web shooters, Peter was simply no rival for the strength of a super soldier. His speed advantage was his best bet, but even that had been badly diminished by his previous injuries and daily lack of food. 

He hit the ground again, crying out when his hip was jostled for the dozenth time. He didn’t want to get back up. He knew he could, and that one way or another Fields would make him, but he was getting so tired of this cycle of pain. Every time he started to feel even the slightest bit stronger, HYDRA would take that moment to knock him on his ass. He continued to lie there, sucking in unsteady breaths, as Bucky advanced upon him once more. Even though Bucky was bruised and bloody himself, and even though his eyes were filled with nothing but regret, Peter felt the beginnings of genuine terror sinking into his bones as the super soldier closed the space between them. No, no, no, he couldn’t be afraid of Bucky. It was hard enough not being able to look Steve in the eye. If he was isolated from both soldiers he was going to break. He knew it. He couldn’t let that happen.

It was that realization that brought Peter back to his feet, finally prepared to make use of the clunky web shooter on his wrist. He aimed above Bucky’s head, at the ceiling, intending to swing over the soldier and land behind him. He didn’t want his first test of the device to be against his friend. Deploying the fluid took more pressure than usual, the release nothing like the sleek, easy mechanism on his own shooters, and when he did manage to release the webbing, he immediately regretted it. A strand of white, much thicker and far more rigid than what he was used to, shot outward from the device with enough force to throw Peter backwards. He felt something crack in his wrist, and barely had time to register the pain of that before the webbing attached to the ceiling and dragged him, flailing, into the air. His broken wrist shifted again, causing him to cry out and attempt to detach himself from the webbing. Unlike his own designs, the fluid refused to release him, and he ended up dangling from the ceiling by one arm, a good four feet above the ground. Gasping at the pressure against his broken appendage, he struggled to grab onto the dangling web with his good arm. It only took him a moment to grasp ahold of it, and several strong yanks eventually released him from the sticky prison. He landed in a crouch.

Bucky had frozen, looking both confused and appalled at what he had just witnessed, but Peter’s glare landed on Fields. The professor at least had the decency to look alarmed. “What the hell?” Peter shouted, jumping to his feet. 

“I never claimed the design was perfect,” Fields said. Peter was seething. The kickback on the shitty device had broken his wrist. If he hadn’t been enhanced, he knew his whole arm would probably be shattered. The web fluid was also entirely useless. “We will keep working on it,” the professor continued. “But for now I need the two of you to continue.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Bucky demanded, apparently unable to hold back any longer. “I thought the whole point of this was for him to use the webs.” 

“And he still can. This will help us determine what adjustments need to be made.” Bucky had opened his mouth to continue arguing when Fields abruptly held up one hand for silence. “This is not a conversation. Keep going, both of you, unless you would like to revisit the consequences.” 

At the threat, Bucky let out a swear word, and Peter definitely shared the sentiment. With his last resort having proved itself less than useless ( if his throbbing wrist was anything to go by), Peter knew he was about to be beaten senseless. Bucky was already turning on him again, a fury in his eyes that Peter knew was meant for Fields. However, that didn’t make him feel much better about continuing to fight his (now livid) opponent without a functioning web shooter. He was nearing the end of his mental and physical strength, and he knew Bucky was about to hurt him possibly as badly as Steve had. 

Bucky took a step toward him, and Peter backed away, wondering how he had ever been arrogant enough to believe he might one day be an Avenger. The setting might have been to his disadvantage, but he had still learned, twice now, that he was far less capable than either of the men he had one day hoped to call his teammates. The only option he had left was to try and stave off serious injury as long as possible. He set his shoulders, and he and Bucky began circling one another, each searching for an opening to strike. 

The soldier moved first, and while Peter managed to dodge the attack, he accidentally shifted his broken wrist in the process. He gasped, feeling the bones move, but realized in a moment that they weren’t the only things to have budged. The metal bracelet, which had been flush against his skin since his initial capture, had taken advantage of the misshapen limb and slid down toward his hand. Glancing so quickly at the bracelet that their captors wouldn’t notice, Peter suddenly knew what he had to do. He ducked under another of Bucky’s punches, yanking the crappy web shooter off his wrist and throwing it against the wall as he straightened. The thought of what he was planning made him feel slightly sick, and he knew he wouldn’t have the willpower to pull it off alone. He needed Bucky’s help. He just had to find a way to convey what he was thinking to the soldier without any of the others noticing. He avoided one more attack before switching to the offensive. It was only his speed advantage that allowed him to twist behind Bucky and catch the man in a headlock. Before he could be thrown off, he whispered frantically into Bucky’s ear. 

“I need you to crush my hand.” 

The only indication Bucky gave of having heard the words was a quick tensing of muscles, and in the next moment he had thrown Peter onto his back. They made eye contact again as Peter gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him, and Bucky followed his gaze as he flicked it toward the bracelet. Peter thought, or at least hoped, he caught the briefest flash of understanding in Bucky’s eyes before the man attempted to kick him. He rolled away, barely avoiding the blow. They had to make the fight look good. Fields could not figure out what they were planning, or it would be over before it began. Peter sprang back to his feet, hitting Bucky once more in the face before deliberately holding up his right hand to catch the retaliating punch. 

Though he’d once caught the metal arm at the airport, at the time it hadn’t been with a broken wrist, and Bucky hadn’t really been aiming to hurt him. This time, however, the metal fingers locked around his hand. Peter watched an apology appear in Bucky’s eyes before he suddenly squeezed hard and twisted the hand unnaturally. Peter screamed, his knees going weak as what felt like every bone in both his hand and wrist was shattered into a compressed, narrow mass. He forced himself to remain on his feet, his vision going white until he felt something hard and cold pass over his ruined hand. It was Bucky’s voice, shouting, that brought him back. 

“Peter, go!” 

His eyes focused to find Bucky in front of him, the bracelet he’d been wearing moments before clutched in the soldier’s hand. He was free, and he didn’t need to be told twice. Adrenaline took over, the aches in his body temporarily forgotten as he took his one chance at escape. He lunged first at Fields, ignoring the man’s screamed warning and Bucky’s sudden cry of pain behind him. The soldier’s bracelet had been activated, but Peter was pretty sure he could make it stop if he took out the people in the room. An elbow to the face knocked Fields unconscious before Peter dove in front of the door, effectively blocking the exit toward which the three scientists had been scrambling. He literally knocked Simmons and Port’s heads together, causing them both to black out, before facing Meldon. He knew he must have looked wild-eyed, and he couldn’t really blame the woman for sinking to the ground in terror, covering her face with both arms. 

“Make it stop!” he shouted at her. Bucky was still screaming, writhing on the ground, and he had no clue how the bracelets were activated. She looked up at him, eyes beginning to water, and Bucky suddenly went quiet. “How did you do that?” 

“It’s mental,” she told him in a trembling voice. “There’s a chip in the bracelet that connects to one we’ve had implanted in our brains. We only have to think about what we want it to do.” 

As insane as that sounded, Peter actually believed her. He, Bucky, and Steve had all searched tirelessly for anything that might control the bracelets, but they had always come up empty-handed. He suddenly remembered how the bracelet had attached itself to him in the first place, flying through the air and snapping onto his wrist. Was that part activated mentally as well? “How can I keep it off?” Meldon looked confused, but he was too wound up to be calm. “The bracelet! How do I keep it off?” 

“We...we don’t have backups,” she stuttered. “Just hold onto it, and we w...won’t...h...have any control.”

He had no idea if she was lying, but he was running out of time to continue the interrogation. Bucky had made it to his feet, and he was standing beside Peter, panting heavily. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on.” Peter reached out and grabbed Meldon by the shirt collar, dragging her roughly to her feet. “Take it off.” 

“Take…?” She looked uncertain, and Peter would have thought she was playing dumb if she hadn’t looked so genuinely fearful. 

“His bracelet!” He jabbed at Bucky with his mangled hand. Realization passed across Meldon’s features, and she briefly closed her eyes before Bucky’s bracelet clattered to the floor. The soldier let out a small “whoop!” of excitement as he was freed. 

“Grab it,” Peter told Bucky, but the soldier was already bending for it. “Do you still have mine?” 

“Yeah. I heard what she said. I’ve got them both.” 

Without a word, Peter pulled the woman to the door. She scanned her fingerprints across the keypad without being told. The door opened, and Peter and Meldon had both entered the hallway before he realized Bucky was not beside them. He looked back into the room to see the soldier yanking the discarded webbing from where it was still hanging from the ceiling. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to tie them up. Give us a better shot. Unless you want me to kill them?” 

Meldon let out a small squeak of fear, and though Peter was as tempted as he had ever been, ending a life was still against his moral code. He shook his head. “Tying them up is a good idea.” 

“Got it.” Bucky was already shoving the three unconscious figures into a heap that would make it easier to secure them together. “Go get Steve. I’ll meet you there.” 

“You remember the way?” Peter wasn’t sure he did. Everything in the place looked so similar, but at least he had Meldon to direct him if he got lost. 

“I think so. Go.” Peter had turned toward the hallway when Bucky’s voice made him look back over his shoulder. “And Pete? You are clever as hell.” The soldier shot him a grin, which Peter quickly returned before shoving Meldon ahead of him with his good hand.

“Lead the way.”

The woman didn’t protest as Peter pushed her into a run. He knew there were others working inside the facility, but had no idea how many. Luckily, in all the times he’d been led down the halls, he seldom ever passed anyone. He was prepared to attack any person they came across, but ended up not having to. In only a few minutes they had reached the cell door without incident, and Meldon, again, scanned her fingerprints without being told. The door opened to reveal Steve doing pushups, but he jumped immediately to his feet, eyes blown wide with surprise when he realized Peter was in the position of authority. 

“His bracelet,” Peter ordered. “Now.” 

“Peter, how in the world!” Steve gasped when the metal fell from his wrist. 

“We’re getting out of here,” Peter said. “Mr. Barnes is coming. Take your bracelet. They can make it reattach, but not if you’re holding onto it.” 

Steve was obviously shocked, and Peter wouldn’t have blamed him if he tried to ask more questions, but his military training was already kicking in. He snatched his bracelet off the floor and met Peter in the hallway. “Bucky?” 

“He said he’d meet us here.” 

As if on cue, Bucky chose that moment to come sprinting down the hall. When he reached them, he immediately grabbed Meldon around the throat with his metal hand. His grip wasn’t tight enough to cut off her airway, but it was still probably a little more forceful than necessary. “How do we get out of here?” he growled. 

“I’ll show you! I’ll show you!” she squealed in obvious terror.

“You’d better. No tricks.” Bucky tightened his grip for a split second before releasing the trembling woman. “And be quiet about it.” She nodded vigorously, tears running across her cheeks as she turned and began down the hall. Peter kept one hand on her shoulder in warning. He felt a little bad. Out of everyone he’d met at HYDRA, she had always been the kindest. Not that the bar had been set particularly high. He reminded himself that she had still actively participated in his torture and that of his friends. He should save his pity.

They ended up winding through the identical hallways for about ten minutes, passing only two unfamiliar men along the way. Both were knocked into unconsciousness before they could cause any problems, and soon after, the foursome had reached a tall, stone staircase. With Meldon continuing to lead them, it felt like they walked up about a million stairs before reaching a metal door at the top. The woman was panting by the time they got there, and Peter was practically biting through his lip in an effort to ignore the screaming in his hip. However, his pain was all but forgotten when the door was opened to reveal an expanse of grass, trees, and the smell of fresh rain. They had made it. They were outside. Freedom was theirs for the taking.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, readers! You guys are the absolute best, most-supportive group of people I have ever been lucky enough to encounter! I'm so grateful to all of you for reading my story(ies), and I felt bad about taking so long to update last time, so I'm posting two chapters in two days! It won't always be this fast, but I had time to devote the entire day to writing today. You guys totally deserved another chapter, so I made it happen! I just cannot get over the support and SUPER kind comments you guys are leaving! I absolutely love hearing from all of you, but this time I've got to give a particular shoutout to Kristador. You always have something kind and insightful to say, and you probably have no idea just how much that makes my day! Seriously, though, everyone who comments warms my heart. You guys are just so darn nice! Thank you!! :D <3

They all stood there for a second, staring in what could only be described as awe, before Bucky snapped back into action. “We’ve gotta move. Get as far from this hellhole as possible.” He stepped out into pouring rain, Peter and Steve following behind. The initial shock of the freezing rain caught him a little off guard, but Peter wasn’t about to complain. He hadn’t so much as looked out a window in nearly a month, which meant it had to be late October now. Even the wet and cold could only be seen as a good thing. It meant outside. It meant hope. 

“What about her?” Steve asked, gesturing toward where Meldon stood, still quaking, beside Peter. 

Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Knock her out like the others? I really don’t care.” 

“Wait! Please!” The woman found her voice again, shrinking back against Peter as Bucky took a step toward her. The soldier clearly had no regard for what she wanted, and Peter couldn’t find it within himself to blame him for that. “Wait!” she pleaded again when Bucky was directly in front of her, fist raised. 

Steve was the one to show mercy, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to make him pause. “What is it?” He spoke quickly. They were all hyper-aware of the open door behind them that led straight back to their prison. They couldn’t afford to linger. 

Meldon looked surprised that she was being given the opportunity to speak, but didn’t hesitate to dive in. “Please don’t leave me here. I helped you. If they catch me now I’m dead. Worse than dead. Please!” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t really sound like our problem,” Bucky said. “And it’s not like you willingly helped us anyway.” 

“Did I cause any trouble?” she demanded, her voice exceptionally steady for someone who was trembling so hard. “Did I shout for help or leave your bracelets on? I could have lied. I could have told you I didn’t know how to take them off, but I didn’t do any of that. You don’t have to take me with you. I don’t expect you to. Just please don’t make me stay here.”

Though Peter had zero positive feelings toward the woman, he couldn’t ignore the fact that what she was saying was true. He didn’t doubt for a second that her motives were based solely on self-preservation and fear, but whatever the reason, she had helped them. They wouldn’t have made it out if she hadn’t been so cooperative. That had to count for something. Also, he didn’t like the idea of leaving anyone for dead. Even an enemy. 

“Let’s just take her with us,” he said. 

“Are you insane?” Bucky said. 

Peter shook his head. “Just for now. Just until we figure this out. We can’t keep standing here.” 

“I agree,” Steve said. “We need to get going.” 

That wasn’t in question, but there still remained the dilemma of where. Peter finally took a moment to observe their surroundings. It was raining, hard, and even though it couldn’t have been that late into the afternoon, the storm clouds were making everything gray. They were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a forest. Peter looked in a complete circle, and all he could see in any direction was trees, trees, and more trees. The massive, stone facility stood in the only clearing. There weren’t even any visible paths. 

“Which way leads back to civilization?” Steve shot at Meldon. 

She cowered and spoke only a smidgen above a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

“Please let me hit her,” Bucky said.

“I don’t! Even I wasn’t allowed to know where we were. When I took the job, I was brought here in the back of a windowless van. I’m pretty sure we’re in Tennessee, but beyond that I just don’t know.” 

“Fine,” Bucky huffed. “This way it is.” He chose a direction and took off in a run, entering the dense trees with Steve, Peter, and Meldon right behind. 

Peter was actually glad that someone else was taking charge. The adrenaline of escape was starting to dwindle, and he was becoming aware of how spent his brain felt, not to mention how much his body was hurting. He could feel himself shivering from some combination of cold, hunger, and stress. None of them, with the exception of Meldon in her sweater, slacks, lab coat, and shoes, was dressed for the elements. Steve, Bucky, and Peter were all wearing the same short-sleeved t-shirts and gray sweatpants that had been their uniform during their stay at HYDRA. They had never been given any shoes or socks, and Peter had never imagined himself running barefoot through a rainy forest in autumn. That, however, felt low on his list of complaints. His crushed hand and wrist throbbed with each step, and his ribs protested with every panting breath. His ribs hadn’t had time to heal properly after his fight with Steve, and sparring with Bucky had only aggravated them. His nose had finally stopped gushing, but the pulsating pain and matching headache were still very much active. His back ached from the hits he had taken there, and he was beginning to think he might throw up if his hip continued panging like it currently was. However, he didn’t dare slow his pace. His injuries would heal, eventually, so he could take some pain if it meant they wouldn’t be captured again. 

They hadn’t been running very long when the bracelets clutched in Bucky and Steve’s hands began to vibrate and jump. They didn’t slow down, but the soldiers let Peter know someone had tried to activate their shackles. Both men tightened their grips on the devices, all three of them knowing that their breakout had been detected. If anything, that motivated them to run faster, and over an hour passed before Meldon finally fell to her knees in the mud, gasping desperately. They all came to a halt. 

“C..c...can’t keep...up,” she panted. “Go...go on. Leave me.” 

“Shut up,” Bucky growled. “We’re not having you tell your friends which way we went.” The soldier dragged her roughly onto his back, carrying her as the three of them took off again at the same pace. 

Their mad, directionless sprint continued through the day. None of them had a clue where they were going other than away from their captors, and for the time that was enough. They talked little, choosing to save their breath for gasped lungfulls of oxygen. They were all enhanced, having much greater speed and endurance than any normal person, but that didn’t mean they weren’t getting exhausted. The lack of food, constant experiments, and absence of proper space to exercise for nearly a month had hardly left them at peak condition. 

The rain refused to let up, and darkness had fallen, forcing them to slow down at least a little to avoid crashing into trees and bushes. It wasn’t until Peter’s spidey sense warned him too late, and his foot caught a stray root, that he crashed to the ground and found he couldn’t get back up. He moaned between pants, rolling onto his left side and curling up around his stabbing ribs, heavily favoring his bad hip and hand. Even in the darkness, it only took his companions seconds to stop and crouch down beside him. They couldn’t see much, but the night wasn’t as blinding as their cell had been. They could at least make out silhouettes. 

“Peter?” Steve’s hand found his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, still incredibly short of breath. “I...I...I just...can’t.” 

“That’s okay,” the captain said, also winded. “I need...a breather...too.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky slumped onto the soupy earth next to Peter, dropping Meldon off his back in the process. She let out a small noise of alarm, but otherwise didn’t protest. Between the continued rain and tree-cover there was hardly any moonlight, and Peter realized the woman would be able to see less than they could. She wasn’t going anywhere on her own.

Peter wanted to say more. To talk to his companions. To plan. His body, however, had other ideas. Now that he had finally stopped moving, the pain and exhaustion had become too much to fight. He had to rest. It wasn’t even an option. Steve settled beside him, lying down on the wet ground, and actually pulled Peter’s head from the puddle in which he was currently sprawled to rest on his chest. It was firm, and warm even in the blustery weather. Peter stiffened. They were out of their prison, but his lingering fear of the captain hadn’t evaporated. His senses hissed at him that he was in danger, and he was pretty sure that even without being afraid it would have felt uncomfortable to use an Avenger as a pillow. He just couldn’t seem to find the energy to move away. 

“You did good, Queens,” Steve said after several minutes, his breathing finally having evened. “I saw your hand. I know you got us out.” 

“Couldn’t ‘av done…’out Miss’r Barnes,” he slurred.

“Team effort,” Bucky said. “But your idea set it off.” 

Peter didn’t answer, instead letting out a small whimper as a particularly sharp pain shot through his hand. Steve’s fingers ran through his hair in response. It was awkward, but good. If he closed his eyes and let his mind go a little unfocused, he could almost pretend he was back on the couch with Aunt May. He didn’t like being vulnerable, but with her it had always been okay to let his guard down. It had been so long since he’d been able to relax. To feel safe. Maybe, just for a few hours, he could sleep and imagine the nightmare was over. They weren’t out of the woods, figuratively or literally, but they were closer than they had been in a long time. That was the last thought he had before his brain shut off in an unavoidable rest.

___

When Peter woke up he didn’t open his eyes right away. He was aware that he was wet, and that the breeze blowing over him felt like ice, but there was something incredibly warm pressed up against his body. He only realized that it was Steve when he felt the man breathing, but instead of rolling away, he listened. His companions were talking about him in quiet tones. He heard Bucky’s voice first. 

“I’m worried about it too, but you’ve seen how tough he is.” 

“I’ve also seen how stubborn he is,” Steve said. “He doesn’t quit until he’s passing out.” 

“You can try,” Bucky said. “But I don’t think he’ll go for it.” 

“Go for what?” Peter dragged his eyes open, curiosity winning out. It was still dark, but at least the rain had stopped. He made himself push away from Steve’s warmth, lying on his back on the wet ground with a good foot of space between them. 

Steve sighed. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” 

“Go for what?” he repeated, more firmly. 

“He wants to carry you,” Bucky said. “It’s been a couple hours and we need to get going again.” 

Peter felt an immediate wave of embarrassment. He was Spider Man, not a toddler! Yeah, he was hurting, but so were his companions. There was no way he was going to let that happen. “I’m ready to go.” He pushed himself up, slowly, cringing against the pain in what felt like every molecule of his body. He held back a moan. They already thought he was weak enough without him whining about it. 

“Is that agreement?” Steve sounded hopeful. 

“Absolutely not. I’m good. We leaving?”

“Told you,” Bucky muttered. 

Peter could just make out the outlines of the soldiers as they pulled themselves up off the ground. The rain may have quit, but it was still plenty cloudy. Meldon, still effectively blind, also stood when she heard their movements. She felt her way to the nearest figure, which happened to be Bucky, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He let out an annoyed breath, but didn’t protest beyond that.

“We’ll walk for a while,” Steve said. “We already got a head start, and they won’t easily find us in the dark. We can try and speed up if we’re not out of this forest by daylight. And Peter?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I know you don’t trust me anymore, and I can’t blame you for that, but please say something if you need a break. I can still carry you, or Bucky can if you don’t want to be near me. You’re strong. We’ve both seen you’re so strong, but you’re a kid. I know you don’t like being called that, but you are, and I think you’ve had a harder time than any of us. You haven’t seen how thin you are, and you’re just so beaten up. It’s okay to ask for help if you need it.” 

That was a lot. Peter knew that Steve was aware of his newfound fear, but he hadn't thought it was something either of them was going to acknowledge. He also wasn’t going to wimp out, no matter what they said. “I’m good,” he insisted again, and began limping through the trees once more. He heard Steve and Bucky mumble something behind him that even he couldn’t make out, but soon they were following him. 

Night eventually made way to morning, and it seemed they were no closer to reaching any sign of human activity. The sun rose, and the clouds finally cleared, but even seeing properly gave them no indication of which direction they should travel. They kept walking in what was hopefully a straight line, praying to reach the end of the forest, or to at least pass another person who might offer assistance. Their greatest goal, however, remained staying ahead of the HYDRA agents who were surely still tracking them. The bracelets had buzzed several more times, but Steve and Bucky had both managed to hold tight. To be on the safe side, they had even used the strings from their sweatpants to tie rocks around the bracelets and then secure the devices deep in their pockets. Even with Meldon there to release them again, they weren’t taking any chances.

The sun couldn’t have been up for more than an hour when Steve declared they should pick up the pace again. Peter agreed, all too aware that their captors could catch up to them at any time, but he wasn’t so sure his body was on the same page. Daylight offered a little warmth, but they were all still wet and the temperature couldn’t have been much above fifty degrees. The soldiers, who seemed to run hot anyway, were okay, but Peter saw that Meldon was shivering as his own teeth clattered violently together. The uncontrolled tremors were doing nothing for the pain that was threatening to overpower him at any moment. The thought of riding on the back of one of the warm super soldiers crossed his mind, but he buried that line of thinking as quickly as it arrived. He had spent the entirety of their captivity pushing through discomforts and trying to convince the Avengers he was capable. There was no way that now, when they were finally free, he was going to break down and act like a child. It simply wasn’t happening.

They switched positions, Bucky leading the way with Peter and Meldon in the middle. Steve took up the rear, and Peter suspected it was so they could keep an eye on him. He didn’t argue. They started running again, not quite as fast as the previous day, but fast enough. Peter kept up, but barely, blinking away moisture as his eyes began watering from the grinding ache in his hip. The only upside was that the faster pace warmed him up enough that he eventually stopped shivering, and as the sun rose higher, his clothes also began to dry. No one was talking much, so he allowed himself to sink into his head, attempting to think about anything besides how his body was feeling. He was imagining a ludicrously large meal at his favorite Chinese buffet when a faint humming sound drew his attention. He froze, causing Steve to nearly slam into his back. Bucky, hearing the stumbling, stopped as well and turned to face them. 

“What is it?” 

“Do you hear that?” Peter was on high alert. Though it hadn’t been super reliable lately, his spidey sense was bugging him again. Both soldiers went still and silent, listening. The noise was getting louder, and Peter placed what it was at the same time the soldiers became able to hear it. 

“Is that…?” Bucky began, sounding horrified. 

“Motorcycles!” Peter hissed. “Several.” 

“Move!” Steve ordered. Without waiting for permission, he dragged Peter over his shoulder and began running at full speed. Bucky didn’t hesitate to grab Meldon and take off after his friend. Peter protested as he was bounced around, but both soldiers ignored him completely. In fairness, he didn’t think he would have been able to keep up with their pace. At least not in his current state. Steve must have realized that before he started sprinting in the first place. 

The soldiers were fast, ridiculously fast, but Peter could still hear the motorcycles gaining on them. He tried not to panic, instead beginning to mentally prepare himself for what might literally be the fight of his life, when a new sound caught his attention. It was faint, but definitely there. “Go right!” he shouted at Steve. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just do it!” Peter felt a surge of gratitude when the man listened, swerving to the right with Bucky following behind. The HYDRA agents must have been following the tracks they left in the stupid muddy ground, but if Peter’s hunch was right, they only needed to outrun them a little longer. 

Five black motorcycles had appeared from behind, each carrying an armed HYDRA agent, when a rushing river came into view ahead of them. “You are so freaking smart, kid! I get it now!” Bucky shouted. “And to think I was preparing for a fight.” 

“Not there yet!” Steve said, if possible throwing himself even faster toward the river. He had barely gotten the words out when the agents began firing. Both soldiers dodged as bullets, not darts, not tranquilizers, peppered the surrounding trees. The volume of the gunfire made Peter’s ears ring, but that was the least of his problems. Meldon started screaming until Bucky roared at her to shut up. They were only ten feet from the embankment and a short drop that led to deep, rushing water, when the motorcycles growled to a stop and the agents fired their automatic weapons again. 

Steve and Bucky kept running, and in seconds were diving toward the river. They hit the water, and Peter thought they had made it as he went under, Steve finally releasing him from his grip. Peter hadn’t surfaced yet, already allowing the rushing current to pull him further away from their captors, when he felt a sharp, burning pain shoot suddenly through his upper left shoulder. He barely had time to register that he’d been shot when a second bullet found the edge of his left side. He gasped, sucking in water, but still managed to flail his way to the surface. The water had already moved them out of range of the agents, and he coughed up mouthfuls of the river as he allowed himself to be sucked further downstream. He spotted his companions wading nearby, Bucky holding tightly to Meldon’s arm to keep the woman afloat in the strong current.

“Everyone okay?” Steve shouted over the sound of rushing water. 

“I think she got shot,” Bucky called, chopping at the water until they were closer to Steve. 

“It’s just my hand,” Meldon said, surprisingly bravely given the red staining the water around her.

“My arm got skimmed, but I’m okay,” Steve said, staring across the water to look at Peter. The kid was floating on his back, unable to tread. The coldness of the water was actually making his wounds go numb, or perhaps that was shock. He was also feeling incredibly lightheaded. Like, dangerously lightheaded. Especially for someone who was currently in fairly deep water. 

“Peter?” Bucky shouted, instant worry in his voice as he followed Steve’s gaze. They both swam toward him as the river continued to carry them downstream. It wasn’t long before Steve had locked an arm around Peter’s chest, holding him against his own body, head well above the water. 

“I think...I think I may ‘av got hit,” his tongue felt heavy as he tried to explain. 

“You’re okay,” Steve said, his words a lot more certain than his tone. “We’ve got you now. You’re okay.”

“I...I’d...like to….go ‘ome now.” He stared at the sky, thinking of Aunt May and Mister Stark. They’d been away too long. 

“That’s exactly where we’re going,” Bucky said, fighting the water to give Peter’s shoulder a grounding squeeze. “Be there before you know it.” 

“Tha’s...good,” he sighed, allowing his body to go limp. Staying rigid enough to float seemed like too much effort. He felt the arm around his chest tighten. 

“I’ve got you,” Steve said. “Don’t worry.” 

He hadn’t been worried. That in itself probably should have been concerning, but he was feeling strangely calm. Almost good. The pain was fading, and the sky, though blurry around the edges, was so blue. He’d missed the sky. He almost wished he could web his way closer to it. 

“He’s going into shock,” Meldon said. “We need to get out of this river.” 

“Riding the current is our best chance of finding civilization and staying ahead of your buddies,” Bucky argued. “We’re not going to go sit in the woods and wait to be hunted down. Steve, can you tell where he’s hit?” 

“Shoulder,” Peter mumbled, not really certain why it mattered, though he was somewhat sure that it did. “Under. Left.” 

“Got it,” Steve said, one hand shifting to press hard against the bullet hole. Peter let out a broken off scream, though the pressure still didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should have. Steve apologized profusely before asking if he was hit anywhere else. 

“Side,” Peter said. “But...jus’ graze...think.” 

“That can probably wait,” Bucky said. “Just keep pressing on his shoulder. Jeez, he’s so pale.”

Peter couldn’t make himself care. The sky had started dancing. He’d thought the clouds had left, but now they were back, white, fluffy, and twirling. Some of them were smiling. Others were wearing top hats. Wait? What? He blinked quickly, suddenly aware that he was losing it. He dragged his gaze to where Bucky was wading beside him. “I’m...the clouds...they’re smiling.” 

Bucky looked aghast. “Peter? What the hell?” 

“Shock,” Meldon repeated. 

Peter shook his head as much as he could, trying to clear some of the fog. “I know...they shouldn’t be. Clouds don’...don’...don’...” He wanted to tell Bucky that he knew clouds didn’t smile. That he was losing his mind and needed help, but the words were getting stuck. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Steve said, his voice calm and steadying. “Just be as still as you can. Remember, I’ve got you. Relax into the current and float. We don’t want to give your bleeding an excuse to speed up.” 

“But...clouds…” 

“Peter?” He was surprised when Meldon addressed him. He still didn’t like her. He sluggishly pulled his gaze to where she was wading beside Bucky, her bloody hand pressed hard against her chest. “It doesn’t matter what the clouds are doing. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Are you breathing okay?” 

He was. Or at least he thought he was. “Think so.” 

“Then keep focusing on that, and let us know if it gets hard. Can you do that?” 

“...’kay.” 

“I also need you to stay awake.” 

“Don’...’ave to listen...you,” he slurred. 

“That’s right,” Bucky said firmly, glaring at the woman. “You don’t. But it might be best if you kept those eyes open for now. I’m asking, not this bitch.” 

“Bucky!” Steve scolded. 

“What? I’ve never called a woman that before, but given that she tortured us, tortured a kid, I feel okay with it.” Something about that made Peter giggle. He knew Aunt May detested that word, and he never said it for her sake, but right now it seemed apt. She might have helped them a little, but Meldon had definitely been acting like a bitch during their capture. Not buts about it. “See?” Bucky said. “Peter agrees.” 

“Not the time,” Steve said.

Peter suddenly didn’t feel like trying to watch his companions anymore. Their faces were blurry and slipping, and it was actually a little disturbing to look at. It was like they were made of melting wax. He knew that was wrong. He knew he was bleeding out and that his brain was cracking up as a result, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier to watch. He found the sky again. The clouds were laughing at him now, and they hadn’t removed their top hats, but they were still much more pleasant than his melting friends. He would have closed his eyes and blocked out all of it, but Bucky had asked him to stay awake. It would be rude not to at least try. 

“Still with us, Peter?” Steve said, apparently having watched him start to glaze over. 

“Right here,” he said. One of the clouds had started giving him a dirty look. It grew a hand and gave him the finger. Peter raised his hand and returned the gesture. 

“Who’s that for?” Bucky asked, sounding more concerned than offended. 

“Cloud,” Peter said. “It’s...being rude.” 

“You should name it Dalton,” Bucky said, attempting to play along even though his voice wavered in uncertainty. 

“Nah...he’s Iron Man.” 

“You’re giving Iron Man the bird?” 

“He...can ‘ake it. He’s a...he’s a...bad ass.” 

Bucky and Steve actually chuckled at that, and Meldon seemed to work up the courage to speak again. “This isn’t good. His bleeding…” 

“I know,” Steve told her. “Just hold on.” 

“Hear car,” Peter mumbled, finally allowing his eyes to slip closed. 

“What?” Steve and Bucky demanded together.

“Close...car.” 

“Like a road?” Steve asked. “Peter, do you hear a road?” He heard the question, but he couldn’t answer. His tongue was heavy. Everything was so heavy. 

“Look!” Bucky cried. “There’s a dam up ahead.” 

“Is that a building behind it?” 

“Looks like it. Holy shit, Steve! I think we made it!” 

Peter was glad they understood, because he was out of words. Steve harassing Bucky about his impolite word choice was the last thing he heard before the darkness took over.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! I can't even handle the kindness. You have no idea what your views and comments mean to me! I frequently smack my hands over my mouth and squeal out loud when I read what you have to say! You're so nice! I love you guys! Hope you enjoy this one! :)
> 
> PS: I know some of you were hoping for Harley when I mentioned Tennessee, but that never even occurred to me. I'm sorry if I accidentally gave anyone a false impression. Harley will not be making an appearance.

He couldn’t have been out that long, and Peter startled awake when he felt his clothing being removed. He opened his eyes, and though things were blurry around the edges, he was able to make sense of his surroundings. At least to an extent. He was inside, several dim lamps lighting up the room. He was lying on his stomach on a wooden floor, but a somewhat scratchy blanket had been placed beneath him. Meldon, injured hand wrapped sloppily in her discarded lab coat, was currently stripping him one-handed. His shirt was already gone, and she was working on his pants, struggling because the river had plastered them to his body. 

“Wha…?” he tried to question, his voice coming out croaky. 

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice drew his gaze to the right, where the soldier was crouched not three feet away from him. He was piling wood in a fireplace, a lighter sitting on the ground beside him. “Be right there. Just need to get this going so we’ve got some heat.” 

“Where…?” he swallowed a gummy lump in his throat, trying hard to focus. His head was still swimming. Meldon finally managed to get his sweatpants off, and she fortunately left his boxers in place before wrapping him in a blanket. Only then did she press down on his shoulder. He realized the bullet wound there had already been packed with some kind of material, as had the graze on his side, but it wasn’t until the woman added pressure that he let out a small cry of pain. 

“Be careful,” Bucky shot at her. 

“I’m keeping him alive,” Meldon retorted, attitude having entered her voice for the first time since their escape. “Unless you’d like to take over?” 

“I can still kill you,” Bucky threatened. That shut her up. 

“Good news!” Steve declared, entering the room from...somewhere. Peter was still struggling to figure out exactly where they were, but that seemed entirely unimportant when he saw what the captain was holding. A cordless phone. A landline. He hadn’t even realized people still had those. Steve raised the phone to his ear and grinned. “And we’ve got a signal!” 

“Who are you calling?” Bucky asked when Steve began dialing. 

“Tony.” 

Peter felt his heart leap. This was unreal. They were actually getting out of this. 

He would have been able to hear the other side of the call even if Steve hadn’t put it on speaker phone, and the first ring felt like a beacon of hope. Mr. Stark was a busy man, so even though his mentor rarely ignored him anymore, Peter was still used to either being sent to voicemail or getting a grumpy reply from Happy. That’s why he was so surprised when the answer came after a single ring. “Stark here. Whoever this is, tell me you’ve got news.”

“Tony.” 

“Steve?” The word was practically shouted in shock, and Peter couldn’t help being taken aback that Mr. Stark recognized the captain’s voice so quickly. They hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms for a while. “Is Peter with you? Where are you?” 

“Yes, he’s with me.” At the news, a wavering sound, not unlike a sob, came from the other end. “I’m not sure where we are. It might be somewhere in Tennessee.” 

Mr. Stark cussed. “I followed a bad lead to Maine. Tracing the call now. Was this HYDRA?” 

“Yes,” Steve confirmed. 

“Put Peter on.”

“I’m here,” Peter said, doing his best to raise his voice. His throat felt tight, and it wasn’t just from his injuries. 

“Peter, thank God,” the man breathed. “I’ve been looking so hard for you. We all have. I’m so sorry it’s taken this long.” 

“It’s…’kay,” Peter said, wondering who “we all” included. 

Mr. Stark hesitated. “What’s wrong?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You don’t sound right. How badly are you hurt?” Tony Stark could never be accused of being slow, though Peter didn’t know how to answer that. His thoughts were still muddled, and he didn’t want to worry the man. 

“It’s been a rough few weeks,” Steve answered for him. 

“How bad is it?” 

“It’s not good,” the captain said. “We’re safe at the moment, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last. We’re being tracked.” 

“Okay,” Mr. Stark was all business. “How long do you think you have? Can you get anywhere more secure?” 

“I don’t know how long it will take them. We’re in a cabin. It’s isolated, but there’s a road not too far away. We can get a ride if we have to, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want us to be recognized, and Peter...He shouldn’t be moved, Tony.” 

“I can do it,” Peter protested. 

Mr. Stark sighed, and Peter could almost see him rolling his eyes. “I know what that means, kid. ‘I can do it,’ is Peter for, ‘I definitely can’t.’ Listen to Cap, okay? I’m worried about you. I know you hate that, but you’re just going to have to deal with it for now. FRIDAY has your location, and I’m coming. I’m four hours out, but I’ll try and cut it down to three and a half. Will you guys be okay until then?” 

“Just get here as fast as you can,” Steve said. 

“Roger that.” Peter heard one of his favorite sounds in the world; the repulsors of the Iron Man suit firing to life. This was real. Mr. Stark was actually on his way. “I’ve already contacted the team, and they’re going to follow after in the quinjet. What are we looking at in terms of the HYDRA base? Will we need backup to take it down?” 

“We didn’t get to see much of it,” Steve said. “So calling in SHIELD might not be the worst idea.” 

“Done. You still there, Pete?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Stop pushing yourself.” 

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Stark was suddenly firm, but his words also sounded a little choked. “You know exactly what I mean. I don’t know what happened to you, but you always challenge yourself when you shouldn’t. It’s time to stand down. I’m coming. Let me handle it now.”

“Woah, he really does know you,” Bucky muttered. 

“Who was that?” Mr. Stark demanded. Bucky snapped his lips together, looking guilty, and the rest of them went silent too. “Was that Barnes? That better not have fucking been Barnes!” 

“Tony…” 

“Shit, Steve! You keep that murderer away from my kid? You hear me?” 

Peter was instantly torn. On one hand, he wanted to defend Bucky, but on the other, Mr. Stark had just referred to him as his kid. That had never happened before. Peter wasn’t even sure the man had realized what he’d said, but he felt his eyes getting misty anyway. He knew his mentor cared about him, but he hadn’t realized how much.

“You have every right to hate me,” Bucky said, finding his voice. “But I’ve been with Peter this whole time. I promise I would never do anything to hurt him.” 

A furious growl came from the phone. “Stay away from him. I’m not kidding. Steve, back me up here.” 

“I’ve got this, Tony. At least until HYDRA’s agents track us down.” 

“No. Not good enough. Promise me you’ll keep that piece of shit away from Peter. Promise!” 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter couldn’t stay quiet any longer, and all anger instantly evaporated from his mentor’s voice. 

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Please don’t be mad, but Mr. Barnes...he’s been good to me.” Talking was still difficult, but this was important. “I need him...right now.”

Mr. Stark let out a long breath, clearly struggling to control his temper. At the same time, Bucky’s hand came to rest briefly on Peter’s uninjured shoulder. A glance at the soldier showed a look of deep appreciation across his features. “Whatever you need, bud,” Mr. Stark finally said, sounding miserable. “You come first.” 

“Thank you.”

“We should probably hang up, Tony,” Steve said after a beat of silence had passed. 

“Why can’t you keep me on the line?” 

Steve glanced at Peter, his eyes worried. “We have a bit of a situation here.” 

“HYDRA?” Mr. Stark sounded alarmed. 

“No, not yet. It’s...there are injuries. And we need to refuel. I don’t know if there’s any food here.” 

“What injuries?” 

“Never mind,” Steve said. “It’s under control. Please just hurry, okay?” 

“Fast as I can,” he said, sounding incredibly uneasy. “The repulsors are maxed out. Be safe.” 

“We’ll do our best,” Steve promised. 

“Peter?” 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark?” 

“I...I’ve missed you. So much. I’ll see you soon.” 

“You too.” 

“Okay.” It was obvious Mr. Stark didn’t want to end the call, but he knew he had to. “Bye for now.” 

“Bye, Tony.” Steve hung up, and Peter felt an instant mix of emotions. He knew his mentor was coming for him, but hearing the line go dead made it feel like his tether to the man had been severed. He reminded himself that Mr. Stark knew exactly where they were. He didn’t need to worry.

Steve set the phone down on a nearby table before coming to hover near his companions. Meldon was silent, continuing to keep pressure on Peter’s wound, while Bucky was working on lighting the fire. He already had a small flame going and was slowly building it up. “Have you stopped the bleeding?” he asked. 

“It has slowed significantly,” Meldon said. “I believe his factor is helping.” Peter supposed that was good news, even though he knew the bleeding would have stopped a while ago, and that the wound would already be knitting itself together, if his healing was working the way it was meant to. Small victories. 

“Can I do anything to help?” 

“Not just yet. His side was only grazed, and the bleeding there is mostly stopped already. The other bullet is lodged in his shoulder, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to remove it until he is in a proper medical facility. For now the bleeding is mostly controlled.” 

“Damn,” Bucky said. “I was hoping it was a through and through.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Peter said. He of course didn’t like that he had a hunk of metal stuck inside his body, but he’d be lying if he said it was the first time. Getting shot at came with the territory when you were a vigilante. 

“I think so too,” Meldon said encouragingly before returning her attention to Steve. “How’s your arm?” Peter followed her gaze to the man’s bloody left sleeve. 

“I’m already healing. The bullet only skimmed me. What about your hand?” 

“The bullet went straight through. Assuming I don’t have any nerve damage, it should heal up with time. I’ll have an ugly scar though.”

“I guess that’s mostly good news,” Steve said. “Buck, you good to keep an eye on them if I go check the kitchen?” 

“Yeah, and if you’re taking orders I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries.” 

“Philly cheesesteak for me,” Peter added without hesitation. 

“Typical,” Steve muttered, but he was smiling on his way out of the room.

It only took another minute or so for Bucky to work the fire into a roaring blaze. The radiating warmth felt amazing, and Peter inched slightly closer until Meldon asked him to be still. Bucky’s response was to snatch another blanket from a sofa in the room and spread it over Peter’s body. The man then sat down beside him, allowing his own clothes to start drying. Peter thanked him before asking, “Where are we? Captain Rogers said it was...a cabin?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “The river was coming up on a dam, and we saw this place right before we got there. No one was home, so we let ourselves in.” 

“Oh.” 

“If you couldn’t tell, we’re in the living room. There are a few others. A kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, I think, but this place isn’t actually that big.” 

“Are we...are we gonna be o...okay here. I mean un...until Iron Man comes?” 

“Try not to worry about that,” Bucky said, frowning. “I’m not loving how you’re talking right now. You’re not about to start hallucinating clouds again, are you?” 

Peter shook his head, hissing at the pain that shot through his shoulder at the motion. Meldon gently scolded him again. “Jus’... feelin’ fuzzy.” 

“Getting his blood sugar up will help with that,” Meldon said. 

“Steve?” Bucky shouted. “You find anything yet?”

The captain peeked his head through the adjoining doorway. “I’m heating up some canned soup I found. Munch on this in the meantime.” He tossed a bag in their direction, and Bucky caught it with ease before holding up the contents for Peter to see. It looked like slightly stale trail mix, the peanuts crumbling a little and the raisins shriveled (even more than raisins usually were). 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve. “Yum.” 

“Doing my best here.” 

“Is there anything to drink?” 

“There are a couple old beers in the fridge. Other than that we’ve got tap water.” He disappeared again, returning a moment later with a brown can and a glass of water. Bucky took both before Steve went back to check the soup. 

“You thirsty, Peter?” Bucky asked, largely rhetorically. They were all dehydrated. Accidentally swallowing filthy river water hardly counted as a drink. 

“Beer’s for me...right?” He wished his words would come out easier. The brokenness of his speech was stealing away from his punchlines. 

“You want one?” Bucky sounded shockingly serious. 

“Aren’t you the...the one to keep....’alling me a kid?” 

Bucky shrugged. “After what you’ve been through, I really don’t care if you want to drink a beer.” 

That was fair, but he didn’t actually want any alcohol. “Just water. Please.”

“Then let’s figure out the logistics of this.” Bucky looked at Meldon. “You’re a doctor, right?” 

“I am.” 

“Can he sit up?” 

She glanced down to where she was still pressing against Peter’s shoulder, hesitating before gingerly drawing her hand away from the wound. When it didn’t gush, she returned her attention to Bucky. “Very slowly.” 

“Do you want to sit up, Peter?” 

He didn’t, not really, but thirst and hunger were quickly taking priority over pain and tiredness. His mouth felt dry, and if raising his blood sugar made him feel less spacey then he was all for it. “Yeah.” 

With the confirmation, Bucky didn’t wait to grip Peter’s arm and pull him incredibly gently into a seated position. The soldier even allowed him to lean against his own side for support, and Peter would have objected if he’d had more strength. The glass of water was pressed into his good hand, which was unfortunately attached to his bad shoulder. However, he learned that if he moved slowly enough, raising his arm wasn’t that much of a problem. He drained the glass before Bucky poured a handful of trail mix into his palm, and even stale, the salty peanuts, chewy raisins, crunchy granola, and occasional bits of chocolate might have been the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Bucky cracked open a beer and chomped on a little of the trail mix himself, but it was only at Peter’s insistence that he shared with Meldon. She gave them both a soft, “thank you,” before moving the few feet away to curl up on the couch and eat her peanuts. They continued snacking, and Peter was certain that Bucky had given him a disproportionately large helping by the time the bag was empty and Steve returned, carrying a steaming pot in one hand and balancing a stack of bowls and spoons in the other. The captain laid the meal in front of the fireplace before snatching Peter’s empty water glass and disappearing again into the kitchen. When he came back, it was with two glasses of water and another beer tucked under his arm. He handed one glass to Meldon before joining his friends on the floor.

By that point they were all so famished that they inhaled the food with very little conversation. The soup was nothing fancy, but it was just as good as anything they had been served during their captivity, if not better. The warm hunks of stingy beef and mealy potato might as well have been fileminyon with sides. As far as Peter’s starved stomach was concerned, the meal was perfect. He only wished there was more of it, but according to Steve they had just devoured every scrap of food in the small kitchen. 

No one bothered to do the dishes, merely shoving the pot and bowls to the side. The food and warmth of the fire was starting to get to them. Feeling even this comfortable after so long was a luxury, and Peter felt himself melting back a little against Bucky, his head tilting to rest on the man’s shoulder. His companions were also slumping, staring into the fire with glassy eyes. He remembered that neither of them had slept the previous night. That, added to their grueling escape, made it a miracle that they were still awake at all. Peter watched Steve’s head begin to droop down toward his chest before startling suddenly and shaking his body. He then hauled himself to his feet with what appeared to be a good deal of effort. 

“What are you doing?” Peter asked. Even half asleep, he was pleased to notice his words were coming easier. Meldon must have been right about the blood sugar thing. Either that, or his healing factor was finally doing its job.

“I need to stay alert. I don’t want any surprises. You should sleep, though.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Why not?” Bucky asked, seeming to have roused himself as well. “Goodness knows you need it.” 

“Not until Mr. Stark gets here.” He was so so tired, but he didn’t want to close his eyes until he knew for sure he was safe. That wouldn’t be until he had laid eyes on Iron Man himself. 

“We’ve got a few hours until then,” Steve said. “You should rest. I promise we won’t let anything happen.” 

If Peter was one thing, it was stubborn. “No. I want to wait with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Bucky said. “Just as long as you lie down. My arm is falling asleep, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay sitting up anyway.”

Peter nodded his agreement, partially to assuage the soldiers, and partially because he was a little nervous about his wound starting to bleed again. He hadn’t forgotten how far out of it he’d been, and he wanted to avoid a repeat of that experience if at all possible. After Bucky helped him shift back onto his stomach, once again covering him with the blankets and even tracking down a slightly stained pillow for his head, Peter spent a few minutes evening out his breathing. The food had made him feel steadier, and knowing that help was on the way brought him close to tears of relief, but none of that changed the fact that his physical state was a wreck. His gunshots, hand, hip, nose, and ribs all seemed to be taking turns clamoring for his attention. It was like his body couldn’t decide which injury wanted to torture him most, and that wasn’t even taking into account the various cuts and bruises he’d obtained during his fight with Bucky. All in all, he felt like one big mass of hurt. 

After making sure Peter was as comfortable as possible, Bucky and Steve had moved to keep lookout for both Iron Man and potential threats. While Steve was standing near the front window, peeking discreetly around the curtains, Bucky had moved to the one in the bedroom where he would be able to keep an eye on the back of the cabin. Peter felt better knowing that no one was going to sneak up on them, but he hated that he wasn’t able to help. He had considered sitting up and giving it a try, but decided against it when merely shifting his body sent nearly unbearable pangs through most of his injuries. 

“You need to stay still,” Meldon said, having moved from her spot on the couch to sit beside him. “And please don’t berate me again. As you’ve already made very clear, you don’t have to listen to me. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to give you what I believe to be sound medical advice.” 

She was close enough to his head that he was able to give her a look of loathing. It would have been more effective if he knew he wasn’t so weak and probably colorless, but he still tried to make his hatred toward her as obvious as possible. “And was it your professional medical expertise that led you to help cut me open while I was awake? Or did it only come into play while you spent days trying to blind me and rupture my eardrums?” 

“Peter,” she said his name, looking defeated. 

“What about when you made me fight Captain America until I was too injured to stand up? What about when you wanted to do the same with Mr. Barnes? What about when you gave me a crappy web shooter that broke my wrist? Or how about when you practically starved me for a month? Did you learn all those tricks in medical school too? Because if I was your supervising resident, I wouldn’t have passed you.” 

“I don’t blame you for being mad,” she said. “But there’s a lot you still don’t understand. I didn’t have a say in much of what went on there.” 

“Yeah? Well you didn’t fight very hard against it either.” 

“I’m sorry that so much of what you went through was painful. That was no one’s goal. Especially not mine. I asked them to keep working on an anesthetic for you. In my free time, I even tried to make one myself, but I don’t have much training in that area. You don’t have to believe me, but I like you, Peter. I thought you were strong and witty from the start.” 

“Right. Just like I thought Dalton was dashingly handsome and a real hoot to be around.” 

She gave him a sad smile. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a clever and funny boy.” 

He scowled and looked her up and down. “Don’t tempt me into saying what I think of you.” 

“I would deserve it,” she admitted. “But despite your defense mechanisms, I don’t think you’re unkind.” 

“Then you must not be a very good judge of character.” 

“Maybe not. Then again, you didn’t have to make them bring me along or feed me. You could have killed me, or at least left me for dead.” 

Peter was disgusted with himself for letting her pull him in, but he had to ask. “Would they really have killed you if we left you there?” 

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “HYDRA does not tolerate traitors, and because I helped you to escape, that’s exactly how they’ll view me.” 

“We made you.”

“I didn’t have to be as cooperative as I was, but it wouldn’t have mattered much to them either way. I am expected to give my life to the cause. Hail HYDRA till the end.”

“So am I supposed to thank you for that?” 

“No. What I’m saying is I’m grateful to you, Peter.” 

He wasn’t about to let that get to him. “Stop acting like we’re friends. I still hope you go to prison forever.” 

She shrugged, wincing and shooting a look at her bloody hand. “I’m not surprised. I just wanted to tell you how I felt.” 

He mentally slapped himself when he felt a sudden wave of pity for her. No matter what she said now, he had been there while she stood by and allowed him to suffer. She had also helped hurt his friends. She might have been the kindest one inside HYDRA, but that changed nothing. Her actions were unforgivable. It was his nature to help anyone who needed it. In the end, he would always be Spider Man, but his heroic duties did not extend to her. They couldn’t. He’d keep her alive, if he could, but that was as far as his grace was willing to go. 

“Just go away, Meldon,” he said after a long stretch of quiet. He didn’t feel like looking at her any longer. 

She stood, but lingered, staring down at him. “You can call me Eve, if you want to.” 

“Eve?” He’d been thinking of her by the name Dalton used for so long that it didn’t even occur to him that she might go by something else. 

“Yes. Doctor Eve Meldon, but I don’t think we have to be so formal anymore.” At that she left him, returning to her spot on the couch. 

Peter tried not to think anymore about Meldon, or Eve, or whatever her name was. He didn’t want to be informal. He didn’t want any kind of relationship with her at all. When Mr. Stark got there, he’d let him deal with it. Or the Avengers. Or SHIELD. Just someone else. Not him. He wasn’t going to let her be his responsibility. He was ready to stand down. Isn’t that what his mentor had asked him to do anyway? He would usually hate that request, but right now it sounded just about perfect. When Mr. Stark arrived, the man was going to want to take care of him, and Peter intended to let him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing, and wonderful, and patient, and truly the best! I know this took FOREVER! It was driving me crazy every single day. Writer's block fought me tooth and nail, but I finally got this chapter out. I really hope you like it! Your continued kindness and support are the only things that kept me going when I was feeling SO stuck. I feel so much love for all of you! Thank you!!!

There was a clock above the fireplace, and though Peter was certain the time on it was off (it was obviously sometime in the afternoon, but the clock read eight fifteen) it was still ticking away, allowing him to accurately count the passing minutes and hours. If Mr. Stark was actually able to cut his travel time down to the three and a half hours he’d promised, he would be there in only another fifty-something minutes. Peter couldn’t wait. The closer they got to Iron Man’s arrival, the more anxious he became. The nightmare was so close to being over, and yet he was well aware that they were not yet as safe as he would have hoped. Meldon had fallen asleep on the couch, and the soldiers had not abandoned their posts at the cabin’s windows other than occasionally stepping away to check on Peter or add a log to the fire. 

Since their meal, he hadn’t moved from his spot on his stomach. Tiredness was pulling so heavily against his bones that even blinking was becoming difficult, but he remained unwilling to fall asleep. He’d been on high alert for nearly a month, and he wasn’t ready to give that up in the final stretch. He stared at the clock, watching another slow minute pass, before deciding it was time to sit up. He wouldn’t be able to cling to consciousness if he didn’t. 

Moving was almost worse than he had expected it to be. The time he had spent lying still had allowed stiffness to move into his tired joints and injuries, so his entire body creaked and protested as he pushed himself slowly up. He eventually made it, but had to chew on his lip in order to stifle a yelp when an especially bad twinge shot through his shattered hand. He’d been aware for a while that the crushed bones had started knitting themselves back together. The problem with that was the hand and wrist hadn’t been set. He’d been avoiding looking at it, because at the moment his hand was more of a swollen, purple club than actual functioning appendage. If Mr. Stark was able to get someone to fix it at all, resetting the bones at this point was going to be a sickening experience for anyone involved. 

“You’re not supposed to be up,” Steve said, shooting him a look from his spot at the window. 

“I was falling asleep.” 

“I don’t think that would be the worst thing right now.” 

Peter started to shrug, but quickly stopped himself when he felt the tug against his shoulder and side. “I want to be ready in case something happens.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen. You’re safe now.” 

“Nearly,” he said. “But if we were actually safe you wouldn’t have to be keeping lookout.” 

Peter watched the captain’s resolve crack. There was no way the man could argue with that. “You’re right. But please let Bucky and me handle it. Tony will kill me if he gets here and sees you up and about in your state.” 

Peter didn’t point out that he was far from, ‘up and about.” Instead he found himself smiling at the image of his overprotective mentor. Gosh, he missed the man so much it hurt. “That’s probably true. But he might also kill you if he gets here and sees me in my underwear. You’re already scarred with that image, but he can still be spared.”

Steve shot him a half smile before taking one more peek out the window and walking to the fireplace. Peter’s clothes had been drying near the hearth since their arrival. “They’re still a little damp,” the captain warned, bringing the sweatpants to Peter. 

“They’re good enough. Thanks.” He took the pants, not entirely thrilled with the dampness, but glad they at least felt warm from the fire. Steve seemed to know better than to try and help him as he struggled into the garment one-handed. His hip sent sharp pains through his back and leg when he moved it, but he powered through until his bottom half was clothed. “Can I have my shirt?” 

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” 

“What?” He couldn’t believe Steve was denying him the dignity of being fully dressed. 

“I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be smart. You were shot.” 

“I noticed.” He glanced at his shoulder and winced. 

“Then you should know that introducing a dirty shirt covered in river water to the open wound isn’t the wisest move.” 

Peter chose not to mention that he’d already floated through said water while the wound had been actively gushing. He wasn’t even sure he could get sick anymore, but if there was a chance of avoiding possible infection, the captain was probably right in that he should try to avoid it. He reminded himself that, after everything he’d been through, this wasn’t the end of the world. It was just another example of how little control he had over his own life. He had a feeling that once he was back at the compound, he was going to be a lot more argumentative than usual. He was sick of others making decisions for him. 

“You win,” he told Steve. “No shirt.” 

“Thanks.” The captain reached out, as if to give him a pat on the arm, and Peter acted instinctually. Though the hand moving toward him was in no way threatening, Peter was overcome by flashing images of pummeling fists and nasty kicks raining down upon him. He gasped audibly, raising his good arm into a defensive posture and scrambling backwards across the wooden floor. The motion hurt so much that his vision went momentarily white, and when it returned to focus Steve had backed halfway across the room, his face a mix of guilt and injury. 

“I’m…” Peter struggled for words between the rush of pain and lingering panic, feeling immediately remorseful about his reaction. He thought his irrational fear had been improving, but the close proximity and unexpected motion had apparently been enough to set him off. “Captain Rogers, I’m...I didn’t…” 

“It’s okay,” Steve said, his words soft and calm. “It was my fault.” 

“No. You didn’t do anything. I’m so…” 

“I understand.” He was cut off before he could apologize. “I really do, and I’m not upset. I think you know I would never willingly hurt you, but it makes sense that you want me to keep my distance. We can work on it once we’re safe, okay?” 

Peter thought that was generous. In his opinion, he was being ridiculous, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. It’s not like he could just snap his fingers and make the fear go away. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Just take it easy.” He hesitated, looking uncertain before speaking again. “Do you want me to get Bucky?” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“You just...You really don’t look good. I’m honestly getting worried about it.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“No, you’re not.” His tone left no room for argument. “I can tell you’re hurting pretty bad. Is there anything that will help you wait it out?” 

That was an understatement. He could feel himself shivering against the agony that was trying to devour him alive. When he’d frantically scooted away from Steve, he’d left his small pile of blankets. He was now stuck on the hard floor, several feet away from the crackling fireplace. It was only by force of will that he wasn’t already curled up on the ground, holding himself and whimpering like a child. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off on doing just that. When he spoke, however, he did his best to keep his words steady. “Mr. Stark will be here soon. I can make it until then.” 

“Guys!” Bucky’s sudden shout from the bedroom was startling. Peter jerked to attention, Meldon gasped awake, and Steve began toward his friend. Before he could get far, Bucky spirited into the living room. “I think we’ve got company.” 

“Crap!” Steve ran to the window, peeking around the curtains. “I don’t see anything.” 

“I saw movement in the surrounding trees. At first I thought it might have been an animal, but then I definitely got a glimpse at a person. I don’t know how many are out there. The man I saw was dressed in black.” 

“What do you want to do?” Steve was facing them again. “Fight back, or try to make a run before we’re surrounded?”

Bucky shot a quick, uncertain look toward Peter before answering. “I think we have to make a run for it again. There’s no way of knowing how many of them are out there, but I don’t want to find out too late if it’s a number we can’t defend against.” 

Peter didn’t like the idea of leaving the cabin. He was all too aware that his body had reached a point of no longer listening to him. He thought, if he gritted his teeth and gave it his absolute all, that he might be able to accomplish a brief, clumsy run, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go for long. He also didn’t want to consider how unbearably painful that would be. He was barely keeping it together as it was. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, hating himself somewhat for sounding so timid. “Mr. Stark is only forty more minutes out. If we can just keep them back for that long, we should be okay.” 

“I wish we could,” Steve said, staring out the window again. “But I agree with Bucky. I’m not confident we would be able to wait that long. I don’t see anyone out front. I vote we go out that way and head for the woods again. I don’t trust them not to have agents set up on all the nearby roads. Hopefully no one will see us leave, and we can hide out until help arrives.” 

Bucky muttered his agreement with Steve’s plan. The entire decision-making process had taken them under a minute, and though Peter still wasn’t in love with the outcome, he recognized that they couldn’t afford to spend any more time arguing about it. He was just going to have to trust the soldiers on this one and try his best to keep up. That meant standing. 

Knowing if he thought too much about it he’d freeze up, Peter allowed himself only one deep breath before using his good (or at least better) arm to begin pushing himself to his feet. He was as slow and careful as possible, but the motion was still murder. He wasn’t sure there was a single inch of his body that wasn’t hurting. His bullet wounds and hip, in particular, ached so sharply that he actually felt lightheaded. He only made it halfway up, stuck in an awkward kneeling position as he waited for the pain to fade into something even slightly more manageable. Before that happened, Bucky intervened. 

The soldier wasted no time in snatching one of the discarded blankets from the floor and rushing to Peter’s side. He wrapped him in the fabric before pulling him, seemingly effortlessly, into his arms. Peter’s first instinct was, of course, to insist on being set on his own two feet, but when he opened his mouth to speak, a moan came out instead of words. The amount of pain he was in, coupled with his inability to take care of himself, was becoming scary. He hated the feeling of being completely reliant on others, even though, at this point, he trusted the soldiers implicitly. He mentally shuddered with embarrassment when, while already cradled like an infant, he turned and pressed his face against Bucky’s chest. He just needed something, anything, to give him even a moment of strength and comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky spoke quickly, holding him a little closer when another moan escaped. “I know, and I’m sorry, but this is almost over, okay? Last time we need to move until help gets here. I promise.” 

Peter just nodded. He didn’t know if it was the exhaustion, or the fact that they’d been so close to rescue, but he was having a harder time than he would have liked finding his second (Or third? Fourth? Twelfth? Eighteenth?) wind. He slumped even further into the arms that held him, allowing himself to be carried across the room. He heard the cabin door open, felt the brisk wind, and heard Steve mutter that the coast looked clear. Something was said about carrying Meldon, as she wouldn’t be able to keep up on her own, but he made no effort to look. In the next moment the soldiers were running, Peter bouncing in Bucky’s hold. He could tell the man was trying to be gentle, but the jostling was still a lot worse than he would have preferred. 

As they sprinted toward the cover of the forest Peter halfway expected to hear the sound of shouts, footsteps (or motorcycles), and gunfire. He was relieved when none of that happened, and they continued running for maybe twenty minutes before coming to a halt within a particularly thick patch of trees. By that time, he could both feel and hear Bucky’s breaths coming in heavy pants, and the soldier made no effort to wait before sliding down to rest against one of the trees. Finally turning his head from the man’s chest, Peter watched Steve set Meldon on her feet before also sinking to the ground, his back pressed against a tree across from Bucky. Seeing how drained his companions were after what was, for them, a short run, reminded Peter that he wasn’t the only one to have been beaten down. His companions were dealing with their own collections of injury, malnourishment, and general fatigue. They needed help. It was becoming frighteningly obvious that none of them would be able to keep this up much longer. 

They rested for a time in silence, Peter trusting his companions to remain vigilant to their surroundings. He didn’t even try to stay alert. His head was hurting, and everything felt a little slow and fuzzy. He found himself staring at the pieces of gray sky he was able to make out between the canopy of colorful leaves above. He willed the metallic glint of red and gold to appear. Mr. Stark couldn’t be much further out. He would find them. He had to find them, because Peter was losing his battle with consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, and he was very nearly out when his spidey sense suddenly sprang to life. 

Even though his “Peter tingle” had been on the fritz for the better part of a month, this particular “zing!” down his spine was enough to send him springing from Bucky’s arms into a defensive crouch. The adrenaline temporarily outweighed the weakness in his body, but it only lasted a moment. Peter saw the bracelets coming. He shouted a warning to his companions, but it came too late. He watched the expressions of shock and horror wash over Steve and Bucky’s faces, and heard their shouts of disbelief and furry as two of the bracelets snapped onto their wrists, paralyzing them instantly.

A third ring of metal was coming at him, and Peter dodged it once, twice, before the cold band sealed itself onto his bad wrist. It was tighter than the last time, much, and Peter screamed both from the crushing pain against his broken bones and the sudden shock that made his arms and legs go numb. He hit the ground, landing on his back between his companions. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. His eyes found Meldon. She was hovering over them, looking shocked. 

“You said they didn’t have copies!” 

“They...they don’t. I mean...I didn’t know…” 

“Take them off!” 

“Right.” The woman shook herself, still looking as startled as Peter felt. She appeared to focus on something for a moment, but nothing happened. Her expression fell. 

“What?” Bucky demanded. “What is it? Take these off!” 

“I can’t.” 

“What do you mean you can’t?” the soldier shouted. Peter couldn’t see Bucky from his current position, but he could imagine the fury and panic on his face. 

Meldon shuffled where she stood, eyes shifting from the trees to the prisoners below her. She looked truly conflicted. “I...it’s not working. They had prototypes, but I didn’t think they were ready. They must have programmed them so I couldn’t… I’m so sorry.” She started to back away. 

“What are you doing?” Steve said.

“I’m sorry,” she barely whispered again, starting to turn. 

“Don’t!” Peter shouted, feeling tears appear in his eyes. He didn’t even care if he cried at this point. “Meldon...Eve, don’t! You have to help us!” 

She stiffened visibly at the use of her first name, but said nothing. Instead she broke into a run, disappearing between the trees. In a moment, even her footsteps were gone. Peter knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but a big piece of him couldn’t believe she had abandoned them. They had gone out of their way to help her, but once the tables were turned she’d done nothing to save them. Beneath the terror of recapture, Peter felt a newfound fury beginning to burn in his chest. The woman deserved whatever happened. He didn’t even care if she got herself killed. She’d claimed not to be evil, but she was obviously HYDRA through and through. He’d been a fool to let any part of himself believe otherwise. It disgusted him that he’d ever felt the slightest bit sorry for her.

As he laid on his back, trapped within his own paralyzed body, he heard the pants and grunts coming from both his companions as they fought the effects of the bracelets. He didn’t blame them for trying, but couldn’t bring himself to do the same. It was over. He’d known it was over the moment he’d seen the metal bands flying through the trees. There was no getting out of it this time. The bracelets had attached themselves so tightly that they were digging into their skin. No matter how badly they broke their own bones, the bands weren’t moving this time unless they wanted to cut off a hand. 

“They’re coming,” Peter said, surprised by the lack of emotion in his own voice when he heard the hum of motorcycles in the distance. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said, immediately resuming his role as the voice of reason. He didn’t sound quite as calm as usual, but he wasn’t freaking out either. Judging by the gasping breaths and muttered cuss words coming from Bucky’s direction, the same couldn’t be said of everyone. “Don’t engage them. They’re going to be mad, but we need to do what we can not to make it worse. Tony’s coming, and so is the team. They know HYDRA’s base is nearby. We won’t have to wait long.” 

Peter didn’t respond. His hope was already in shatters at his feet. Steve’s words should have made him feel better, but he was apparently beyond encouragement. From the sound of it, Bucky was in a similar place, because he didn’t respond to Steve either. The noises of his panic, however, had only increased. 

The motorcycles were getting closer, and Peter laid there and listened to them until they were near enough to make the ground beneath his body vibrate. In another moment they had arrived, and the engines cut off. Peter was unable to see their captors until they had left their bikes and come to stand over them. There were three men, dressed in black uniforms with rifles slung over their backs. Two of them were Squirt and Flush, but the third Peter did not recognize. All three stared down at the prisoners in a mixture of anger, disgust, and a hint of smugness.

“Well, well,” Squirt said, his lips curling into a smile even though his eyes spit seething resentment. “Look what we’ve found.” 

“You should thank us,” Bucky growled. “Considering we seem to have given you a promotion from guarding the bathroom.” 

Squirt looked like he was ready to kick Bucky, but Flush interrupted before he could. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”

At that they were all lifted, somewhat less than gently, beneath the arms and dragged toward the motorcycles. The HYDRA agents didn’t say anything else, and Peter followed their example of silence. He had neither the energy nor will to come up with a sarcastic comment. If anything, opening his mouth would result in a terrified whimper or, even worse, a plea for mercy. He wasn’t prepared to let either of those things happen, so he busied himself chewing on the inside of his lips as he was lifted onto the front of Flush’s bike. His arms and legs remained limp and useless, but he was able to move his head enough to see Steve and Bucky dragged onto the other two bikes. Bucky had yet to stop shouting insults and curses, but Steve remained quiet outside of a few useless attempts and calming the soldier down. 

The bikes roared to life, and though Peter was expecting a somewhat lengthy trip back to the facility where they’d previously been held, they didn’t travel for more than a few minutes until the motorcycles broke through the trees. Shortly after that, they stopped beside a road where a collection of vehicles sat idling. There was one windowless white van, a black sedan, a red pickup truck, a clunky-looking RV, and a gray jeep, none of which were particularly distinctive or related. Peter went from confused to horrified when Professor Fields climbed out of the back of the van. He had two black eyes and a bloody lip, presumably from when Peter’s elbow had collided with his face, but still managed to look put-together and intimidating. When he spoke, it was with as much authority as ever. 

“Load them up. Separately. We need to move.” He looked over them and frowned before addressing his men again. “Meldon?” 

“No sign,” Squirt said. “If you want, we can go back and…” 

“No,” Fields spoke over him. “No time. I want Peter with me.” 

That couldn’t have been a good sign, but before he could even begin to protest, Fields was already climbing back into the van, and Peter was being carried toward the open back doors. All at once, his heart doubled in tempo, and it suddenly felt like a boulder was sitting on his chest. Not only were they apparently not going back to the facility where Mr. Stark would know to look for them, but they were being split up from one another. Peter was already feeling as physically weak and emotionally vulnerable as he had in his life. He knew he couldn’t take anymore experiments or days in windowless cells, and the thought of doing it without the support system that Steve and Bucky had become seemed beyond impossible. He didn’t want to know what Fields had planned for him now. 

As he was loaded onto the van, he was vaguely aware of both soldiers calling his name and demanding to be kept together, but he wasn’t able to focus on their voices when he saw what was inside the van. There were two benches on either wall, and nothing between them but open, uncluttered space. That probably shouldn’t have scared him as much as it did, but when he was met by the gazes of those occupying the benches, he felt himself shiver. Flush laid him down on the ground before exiting the van and slamming the doors behind him. The inside was well lit, so he had no trouble meeting the stares of Fields and, to his dismay, Simmons. The latter looked even worse than the professor; his nose was additionally swollen, and he had a large bandage taped against his forehead. Peter knew he was responsible for every injury decorating both men, and he was now completely alone with them. Their expressions were anything but comforting. 

Peter laid in silence, trying not to meet their unwavering gazes. He picked a spot on the ceiling of the van, staring at the painted white metal until he felt the vehicle begin moving. Only then did Fields speak, drawing Peter’s attention back to his battered face. 

“You must have thought yourself incredibly clever for a minute there, didn’t you? After all, you broke free, took Barnes and Rogers, and even got in a few good hits,” he gestured to his bruises. “But what do you really have to show for it now? A mutilated hand?” He nudged the limb with his shoe, causing Peter to hiss through his teeth. “Two bullet wounds?” He leaned forward and pressed briefly on both, making Peter let out a short scream. “It’s a pity, really. I told you once that it was not my intention to see you needlessly in pain, and yet here we are. I can only assume your Avenger buddies were called for help, so we’ll have to go somewhere new. Don’t worry. Our transportation is not obvious, and we should blend perfectly once we reach the highway. We have all the time in the world, Peter.” 

The obvious question was, “Time for what?” but he could tell the man wanted him to ask it. The answer couldn’t possibly be pleasant, so he chose to remain as silent as he could. His breaths were coming hard, but so far he had managed to hold back his whimpers. At least after Fields had released the pressure from his wounds. 

“Aren’t you curious?” Peter chose to glare at him, but Fields only smiled at his defiance. “It’s just as well that you save your voice. You see, this little, let’s call it an inconvenience, that you caused hasn’t derailed our research, but it has put a crimp in the timeline. Though we will, eventually, pick up where we left off, getting set up at a new location will take time. Until then, I figured I would give you a chance to become fully remorseful for your actions. Simmons?” 

Peter barely had time to shift his attention to the scientist, who looked a little too delighted, before Simmons’ expression morphed into one of concentration. Less than a second later, Peter was screaming out in the worst pain imaginable. He recognized it as the same shocks he’d experienced when Steve and Bucky had tried to protect him during their respective fights, only now it felt about a billion times worse. He didn’t know if it was because his body was already so damaged, or if he was being introduced to one of the higher settings that Fields had promised existed. No matter the cause, Peter needed it to stop. He felt like his insides were on fire, like burning metal rods had been inserted inside each of his limbs and twisted around his spine. He wanted to arch, to curl up, to at least hold himself, but he wasn’t able to move more than his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, slamming his skull repeatedly against the floor of the van as his shrieks continued, unbroken. He had no idea how long it lasted, but he was crying and begging them to stop before it ended and he was able to quiet himself and fall still. 

“That,” Fields said when the screaming had ended, causing Peter to open his eyes again. “I’m afraid, is your new existence for a while. It’s important that you know I didn’t want this. I don’t enjoy it. In fact, Simmons was the only volunteer willing to see you through the next week or so. He has always had a hard stomach, and it seems as if he hasn’t forgiven you for the broken nose.” 

“Week?” Peter managed the word, a deeper dread than he had ever felt filling up his insides. 

“Give or take,” Fields confirmed. “When we arrive at our new location, you will spend about that long alone. Until we are ready to resume our experiments, you will, unfortunately, go through that one hour out of every three. Remember, if you had just been cooperative in the first place, this wouldn’t be necessary.” 

Peter knew he couldn’t be hearing him right. He couldn’t stand that pain for even another minute, let alone for an hour straight. Repeatedly. For a week. He found his voice, not even caring that it was hitched from tears and pain. 

“N...No. Please, no. I’ll be good. I’m...I’m sorry. I’ll...I’ll...d...do what you say. You don’t have to. Please.” 

“That was fast,” Simmons said, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

“Quiet,” Fields said, actually sounding angry. “This isn’t meant to be enjoyed.” 

“Then don’t do it. Please.” 

“This is happening,” the professor told him firmly. “And I’ve already explained why. You may rest until we reach our destination. We have a few hours, and I suggest you make the most of it.” He reached out, using his thumb to brush away Peter’s lingering tears in a gesture that would, under other circumstances, have been comforting. “The next several days will be hard, probably the hardest you’ve ever experienced, but once it’s over, we’ll go back to normal. If you submit to your circumstances, it will never have to happen again. Understand?” 

Peter snapped his lips together. Begging clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He should save his energy. Maybe Mr. Stark would still find him. Maybe Iron Man would slam through the van, guns blazing, and rescue him from this hell before he was exposed to days upon days of torture. Maybe Steve and Bucky would escape and come after him. Maybe they already had. Meldon had said the bracelets were prototypes, right? Maybe they were flawed. Maybe there was a way. Maybe...Maybe...Maybe…

As much as he ran the scenarios. As much as he tried to hope. Peter couldn’t. Not really. He’d barely been recaptured, and HYDRA had already won.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my fabulously wonderful readers! Yet another chapter has been added to our hero's journey. I'm not going to lie, these last few have been fighting me. Writer's block is not for the faint of heart, and on that note I'd like to offer an apology. A lot of you keep asking me when future updates will come. I haven't meant to ignore your questions, but I just don't have a straight answer on that. Ideally, I would update once a week, but lately it's been taking me closer to two. Just know I'm doing my best, and I'm so so so grateful for your patience and willingness to continue reading this story. I'd also like to offer special thanks to all of you who are continuing to leave me such fantastic comments! Your support and insights build me up and motivate me like you wouldn't believe. Hearing from you guys is my absolute favorite, so thank you so much! This chapter is a little different (with a change in POV) and I'm anxious to hear what you think. Love you guys! <3

Time no longer mattered. Days had ceased to be something that existed in Peter’s world. His life was simple now. Simple in what he anticipated. Simple in what was asked of him. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t even easy, but it was routine; expected. Simple.

Four white walls. Tile floor that was smooth, cold, polished, and white. White ceiling. Light. Always. But not too bright. Solitude. 

These were his new companions.

There was a metal door that broke up the smoothness of the walls, but it so seldom opened that Peter didn’t count it as one of his friends. It wasn’t constant like the walls, ceiling, and light. It wasn’t loyal like the floor that held and supported him no matter how many tears, or how much sweat, bile, and waste, he produced to sully its surface. There was nothing trustworthy about a door that only opened one way.

Before, back when time still meant something, Peter had measured his life in three hour increments. He’d been taken to this room as soon as the van arrived at the secondary HYDRA base. He was thrown in alone, the door slamming behind him before, as Field’s had promised, the shocks began. One hour of uninterrupted pain, followed by two hours of rest. He suffered by himself, over, and over, and over, and over. He’d tried, at first, to count the minutes; to somehow gauge the amount of time he had to hurt or to attempt to sleep. His efforts at counting were always way off, and after a while he’d given up. He was always going to suffer again. It was always going to be more than he could handle. The ache was always going to linger, even after the shocks had ceased, and the entire process was always going to repeat. Once he’d accepted that, there’d really been no reason left to count.

There were many things he used to notice, to care about, back when he was still keeping track of the minutes with the belief that his life would one day be something other than this room. Other than pain. He had screamed and begged his way through at least a dozen rounds of shocks until his voice was so damaged he tasted blood and couldn’t so much as whisper. He had clawed his way to the door and banged against the metal until his knuckles were skinned raw. He had writhed, contorting his body and smacking his head against the tile, until he was too exhausted to move. He’d sobbed until he was dehydrated, vomited until nothing came up, and repeatedly lost control of his bladder and bowels until he had lost the ability to even be humiliated. 

Sometimes, during his periods of half-conscious rest, someone would enter the room. By the time it first happened, he was already much too far gone to even try and look at the person. He was aware that he had been stripped of his soiled clothing, and sometimes he was sprayed with a cold hose. Once in a while, he even felt an IV inserted into his arm. Some distant part of his fracturing mind recognized that HYDRA was keeping him alive, but for the most part he paid little attention to the person, or people, who tended to his most basic needs. He had grown to depend on his simple routine of agony and rest. Anything else, any deviation, felt like an unwanted intrusion that needed to go away as soon as possible. 

The pain came. The pain faded. The pain came. The pain faded. That was what he knew. That’s all he wanted to know. His world was quiet, and he had grown to prefer it that way. He still opened his mouth in silent screams when the shocks came, an involuntary reaction that had continued even when he’d become unable to make a sound, but he had grown used to that by now. He seldom moved anymore. When he did, it was into one of two positions. He assumed the first during the torture, curling onto his side, limbs tucked close against his naked body while the crackling heat burned its way through his insides. The second was for when the pain became slightly more tolerable. He would lie flat on his back, arms resting at his sides, and watch the ceiling and walls until he started drifting. 

Drifting. That’s what he called it. Peter loved drifting. It was the only time he felt absolutely nothing. Even when he managed short bursts of sleep, a part of him was always still aware of his physical form, but not when he drifted.

Sometimes he drifted with May, once in a while it was with Ben, but usually, the drifting took him to Mr. Stark. The first time it happened he had actually thought he had died. He didn’t think he had so much as closed his eyes, but one moment he was in the room, watching the ceiling, and the next he was somewhere else. He was floating, and the unending pain, cold, and fatigue were suddenly no more. In fact, he hadn’t been able to feel his body at all. He was boneless, weightless, rising through open air. His surroundings were black, solid and impenetrable, but rather than being frightened by that, he had found it soothing. He had blinked a few times, curious, but not frantic, to figure out what was going on, when the blackness slowly brightened and began to ripple. Leisurely, strangely, the darkness was filled with colors that swirled together, moving and mixing like watercolors on a canvas. He watched them in fascination until they began to solidify, taking on a clear and unmoving form. All at once Peter knew where he was.

With recognition came stability. He stopped floating. A familiar floor took form beneath him, and he watched his feet settle upon its surface. When he looked up again, the shifting colors had gone, leaving behind Mr. Stark’s lab; probably Peter’s favorite place in the world. Even through his confusion, and through the knowledge that he was probably dead, Peter couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his lips when he took in the cluttered work tables, partially disassembled Iron Man and Spider suits, empty coffee mugs and pizza boxes, and Dum-E wearing his dunce cap. Peter had only realized he was still alive when his mentor had shown up in the lab. The man’s presence would have knocked the wind out of him had it been possible to feel discomfort while drifting. Mr. Stark was alive, so that meant Peter must have been alive as well.

That had been the first time he’d drifted, but not the last. The times he met Ben were more confusing, but he’d learned, soon enough, that drifting was a gift. It was a reprieve. It took place outside of reality, and yet it wasn’t death. He’d ended up in a variety of locations, from Mr. Stark’s lab, to May’s apartment, to the park he used to walk through with Ben. All of them were completely lovely, especially compared to his prison. 

Because time meant nothing, Peter didn’t know how many episodes of drifting he’d encountered. Quite a few, he presumed. Right now he was in the lab again, at the compound. He was sitting on a spinning stool, using one foot to rotate back and forth while he watched Mr. Stark tinkering with one of his web shooters. The man’s back was turned to Peter, and he was bobbing his head as he worked, moving to the rhythm of the metal song playing quietly in the background. It had never been Peter’s favorite genre, but right now he didn’t mind. The familiarity was comforting.

“You know,” Mr. Stark said, continuing to poke at the device in his hands with a pair of tweezers. “I love having you here. Even when you do just come over to eat my food and not actually help me with anything.” 

“I help!” he cried indignantly.

Even though he couldn’t see it, Peter could feel the eye roll. “Mmm hmm.” 

“I do!” 

“If you say so, but that’s not really my point.” 

“Then what is your point? If you don’t mind filling me in?” 

In spite of Peter’s playful tone, Mr. Stark suddenly became serious. He dropped the web shooter and turned his stool to face his protege. His next words held no trace of a joke or teasing; worried eyes boring into Peter’s. “You know what I’m going to say.” 

He did. He knew exactly what the man was getting at, but it had come sooner than usual this time. He wasn’t ready to be done drifting, so he denied it. “No, I don’t.” 

Mr. Stark looked sad, but he didn’t waver. “You do. You do because it’s the same as the last time you did this, as well as the time before that, and the time before that, and so on.” 

Peter dragged his hands down his face, staring at his mentor from between his fingers as he did so. “Fine. But can you please just pretend for a while?” 

“Sure, bud.” He stood, crossing the room until he was standing in front of Peter. He ran calloused fingers across the boy’s forehead, moving several curls out of his eyes. Peter leaned into the touch. “You know we can do this as long as you decide. I just think it’s important to…” 

“Don’t say it!” 

“Pete.” He let out a troubled sigh. “You know this isn’t okay.” 

“It is! It’s better than okay. It’s my favorite.” 

“No, it’s your escape, which I get, but you’re doing it too much.” 

Peter jerked away from the man’s touch, crossing his arms in a pout. “You’re mean today.” 

Mr. Stark raised his eyebrows at the accusation. It wasn’t mocking; just questioning. “I am?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure I’m not just right?”

“Stop it! You’re ruining this! You’re supposed to be nice. We’re supposed to build things or go on a mission!” That was how drifting worked. It always ended with his companion saying things similar to what Mr. Stark was getting at now, but first they were supposed to do something happy. Something fun that would make him feel secure. He was angry with his mentor for breaking the rules. 

“I have to ruin it,” he said, sounding heartbroken. “You can’t keep doing this, or I’m afraid, eventually, you won’t come back out.” 

“Good. I don’t want to come out.” In (whatever this was) was perfect. It seemed unimportant that he didn’t fully understand it. Drifting was safe. Familiar. Painless.

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Peter.” Mr. Stark took his shoulders in both hands, and he refused to let go when Peter tried to shift away. He stared into his eyes, leaning in until their noses were almost touching. Peter could smell the coffee on his breath when he spoke. “You have to stop this, because I need you to still be there when I find you.” 

He felt tears spring to his eyes, and his next words were hardy whispered. “You’re not coming.” 

“Don’t doubt me now, kid. You never have before.” 

Without warning, Mr. Stark shoved his shoulders. Peter flailed, falling backwards off the stool and feeling his back collide with the floor. Knives tore down his spine, heating into molten lava that had to have been burning through his bones. The pain spread outward, traveling into his arms and legs. His neck. His fingers. His toes. The agony knew no bounds, and Peter curled into his usual position on his side, squeezing his eyes shut tight and opening his mouth to mimic a scream his vocal chords were no longer capable of producing. If he still cried, he would have been sobbing, and not so much from the pain as the loss of fantasy. Mr. Stark, or at least the splintering part of his own brain that pretended to be his mentor, had told him he needed to stop drifting. He had to quit escaping into his head, or he was going to get trapped there. He’d become a shell. A vegetable. There would be nothing left to save when Iron Man arrived. 

If. 

He’d never said that before. Not about Tony Stark, but as he laid there in his personal hell of pain and solitude, the word got stuck in his brain like gum to the bottom of a shoe. 

If Iron Man arrived.   
If he was rescued.   
If this ever went away. 

Peter didn’t know how long he could hold out for “if.” 

___

When they arrived at the new HYDRA base, Steve had expected consequences for their near escape. Separated from Bucky and Peter, he had been loaded into the cramped trunk of a small sedan. It was dark inside, and produced more than a little claustrophobia for a man his size, but beyond that (with the exception of the occasional shocks to keep him paralyzed) he hadn’t been harmed. Upon reaching their destination he’d been blindfolded and hauled through a number of what he could only guess were corridors, but, even then, no one had made a move to hurt him. The blindfold had been removed once he was dropped onto a hard floor, and he had blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting, before taking in what was essentially a concrete cell. 

There were no bars, but the floor, walls, and ceiling were all made of rough, gray stone. There was a solid metal door, and the room, though not tiny, was smaller than their previous prison. It was about the size of an average child’s bedroom, and completely empty but for a bucket in one corner. It was chilly, but not freezing, and Steve was just deciding that it could have been worse when Bucky was thrown in beside him. Their captors lingered long enough to remove Bucky’s blindfold before leaving the soldiers alone, the door slamming closed with finality. 

Since that time, they hadn’t seen another soul, but that also meant they hadn’t been punished either. The bracelets, though uncomfortably tight and seemingly impossible to remove (they’d tried extensively), had not shocked them again after they had been locked in the room. The accommodations left something to be desired, as it wasn’t exactly pleasant to sleep on a concrete floor and use a bucket as a toilet, but, all things considered, they had gotten off easy. At least that’s what Steve might have thought if Peter had been with them, or if Bucky wasn’t experiencing a complete mental breakdown. 

Steve had known Bucky long enough, and helped him through enough bouts of PTSD, to have a decent handle on what it took to guide him out of an episode, but this was something else. Steve was fairly certain they weren’t being fed every day, and the lighting never changed, so gauging the passage of time wasn’t really possible. If he’d been forced to guess, the captain would have said they’d been there at least five days, maybe longer, and Bucky had yet to come back to himself. He spent most of his time sitting beside the wall, leaning his head against the cement and slamming his bracelet methodically against the floor. The soldier wasn’t acting angry or panicked like he usually did when his mental demons struck. He had been, at first, when they were initially locked in. He had done a good deal of shouting and name-calling toward those who probably couldn’t even hear it, and as soon as the paralysis had worn off he’d thrown himself at the walls and doors. Steve had joined him in that, but after spending a substantial amount of time punching, kicking, and chiseling at their prison without so much as making a dent, the captain had counted his losses and given up. 

Despite Steve’s gentle suggestions that he also give it a rest, Bucky hadn’t quit his assault until his strength was completely spent. He hadn’t had a lot to begin with, but it still must have been hours before his legs collapsed out from under him, refusing to support his weight any longer. By that point the fingers of his real hand were dripping blood onto the floor, but Bucky hadn’t seemed concerned with that. Instead he’d let out one last frustrated growl before curling up on the ground and passing out. He’d slept fitfully, and Steve had watched him as long as he could before tiredness dragged him down. The next time he woke, his friend had been sitting in his current position and had yet to move from it again. 

Steve found the new behavior incredibly troubling. Bucky had become stone-faced and largely unresponsive. He barely even shifted but for banging his bracelet constantly across the ground. Occasionally he’d lie down to sleep, but it didn’t happen often. He didn’t so much as talk unless Steve really pushed him, and even then his answers were short and disinterested. The captain was fairly certain Bucky wouldn’t even be eating or drinking anymore if he didn’t make him. The food and water that slid infrequently through a slot in the door was the only thing Steve had to look forward to. Making Bucky nourish himself was his sole success at usefulness. Beyond that, he had no idea how to help, and it made him feel like a failure. He’d been unable to protect Peter, and now he couldn’t even ease the suffering of his oldest friend. He felt a deep, depressive fear and dread settling over both his mind and body, and he wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before he, like Bucky, had given up.

He was currently lying on his back, studying a plastic fork from their last meal as he twirled it around and around in his fingers. It wasn’t much of a distraction, but he needed something to occupy his mind. Otherwise he was going to shout at Bucky about the repetitive clinking of his bracelet against the stone. Picking a fight wouldn’t help, although a part of him really wanted to, if only to see if his friend would engage. He doubted it. Bucky barely even made eye contact anymore.

Another long stretch passed, and Steve was seriously considering giving in and throwing the fork at Bucky’s head, when he was startled by the creaking of the door. He shot up into a seated position, amazed that their captors were once again acknowledging their existence. At this point, even HYDRA’s cruel experiments might have been preferable to the endless waiting. He expected an order, or even a shock from the bracelet, but instead the door opened less than halfway. He barely got a glimpse of an unfamiliar man, and the hallway behind him, before a limp figure was dropped inside the cell. Before Steve could fully process what had happened, the door had already slammed shut once more. 

Steve sat staring in disbelief; taking in their new cellmate. He knew he needed to move, to do something, but it felt like his brain had grinded to a halt. He couldn’t remember how to speak, let alone how to make the rest of his body come back to life, because the boy looked dead. 

Peter hadn’t shifted from the spot where he’d been dropped, lying on the floor in a pile of tangled limbs. He was completely naked, and paler than the captain had ever seen a living person. His skin was clinging to his skeletal frame, his lips cracked and bleeding. The bullet wounds on his side and shoulder seemed to have healed over, but the flesh around his shoulder was red and swollen, leading Steve to suspect the bullet hadn’t been removed before Peter’s factor had healed around it. His right hip also looked angry, purpled and puffy around the joint. His chest was rising and falling, very slightly, with each shallow breath. If it hadn’t been, Steve would have been sure the kid had succumbed to his circumstances. Even with all of that, the worst part was Peter’s eyes. They were open, but unseeing. He blinked occasionally, but other than that his eyes were lifeless. Steve shuddered when he realized they were not terribly unlike the eyes of a corpse.

“Peter? Peter, come on. Come on, kid. Don’t do this. Not like this.” 

The words dragged Steve slowly from his state of shock. Peter’s appearance had apparently been enough to drag Bucky out of his disengaged state, because the soldier was already beside the kid. He’d turned him onto his back, and straightened his limbs into a more comfortable arrangement before leaning over him, patting his cheek and speaking in a frenzied tone. Peter continued his slow blinking, but gave no indication that he was at all aware of his surroundings. Bucky spent another few minutes talking to Peter, continuing to pat his cheeks, and even shaking his shoulders when he failed to get a response. He finally paused, swinging on Steve. 

“Are you planning on helping?” 

Bucky was back. He was finally doing something besides sitting against the wall and moving like a robot. He had emotion in his face and voice. All of that was finally enough to snap Steve out of it. He startled at the words, and gave his head a hard shake before scrambling toward his companions. Peter looked even worse up close. 

“He’s freezing,” Bucky said, dragging his own sweatpants down his legs. That left him in his boxers, but it was better than the nothing Peter was currently wearing. The soldier began pulling the pants onto the limp figure, and Steve stripped off his t-shirt. Together they had the kid clothed in under a minute, the comically large garments pooling around his malnourished frame. 

Without thinking, Steve found himself taking over Bucky’s previous position, lightly smacking Peter’s cheeks while saying his name over and over. He was waiting for a response. A word, a moan, or even a flicker of recognition in those vacant eyes would have been enough to make the captain’s stomach stop trying to eat its way out of his throat, but it was not to be. He looked back at Bucky, who had Peter’s wrist in his hand; two fingers pressed against his pulse point. Even though the boy’s chest was still moving with his breaths, Steve still had to ask. 

“Anything?” 

Bucky nodded, his mouth pressed into a line. “Yeah, but it’s pretty weak. Fuck, Steve, what’s wrong with him?” 

“I don’t…” His voice caught, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat. “I don’t know.” 

“Peter, please,” Bucky tried again in clear desperation. “I know you’re in there. Whatever happened is over now. It’s Bucky and Steve. We’re right here. Please wake up. Please come back.” 

Steve continued watching Peter’s eyes, but they remained as empty as ever. He’d seen plenty of shell-shocked men on the battlefield, but never anything like this. He wanted to make it better, but he was at a loss. There were tears on Bucky’s face, and he didn’t even blame him. Being recaptured had been devastating enough, and now they were being confronted with the fact that they’d failed to protect a kid. Peter was only fifteen, and he’d already dealt with more than either of the fully grown super soldiers. Steve knew Tony would never forgive him for letting this happen, but that was fine, because he was never going to forgive himself either. 

He should have been looking for the upside. He should have been counting his lucky stars that Bucky was moving and speaking again, and that Peter had rejoined them. The kid was in a bad way, but at least he was there. At least they were together. That should have given him some hope. After all, he was Captain America, the mascot of freedom and victory. It was his duty to offer reassurances, to build Bucky up, or to at least continue attempting to coax a sign of life out of Peter. He knew that’s what he should have been doing, but instead it felt like all energy was being sucked from his body. Despair was crashing over him like a weight he was no longer capable of supporting. He laid down on the rough floor, pressing his body against the cold and bony frame beside him. He was incapable of improving their situation, but maybe he could keep Peter warm. 

“Steve?” Bucky sounded both confused and alarmed. 

“I can’t do anything.” He hated admitting his weakness, but Bucky might as well know the truth. He let his eyes fall closed. Giving up was surprisingly relaxing. 

Bucky only hesitated a moment before finding his answer. “Yes, you can, and you will. We’ll figure this out, Steve. You’re just taking a breather, and that’s okay. I know I left you alone with a lot recently, too much, but I’m here now. I’m back, and I’m sorry it took me so long, but I’ve got this. You can rest.” 

Steve hoped his friend was right; that he would be back on his feet soon. If nothing else, Bucky’s faith in him was encouraging. The guilt and powerlessness was too much for him to keep carrying alone, but if Bucky helped him, maybe he wouldn’t stay down. At the moment, rising out of his despondency didn’t seem possible, but then he’d been surprised before. He just couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that had embedded itself deep in his mind the moment Peter had been dropped into the cell. 

“He’s going to die.” The words were barely a whisper, but that was enough. Bucky’s voice was hard when he spoke. 

“Don’t say that. We don’t know what he can hear, and it’s not true. It’s not true at all.” 

Steve didn’t reply. Perhaps he shouldn’t have voiced his fear out loud, but despite Bucky’s denial, he still felt it was true. In every way that mattered, Peter was already gone. His empty, sightless eyes had said as much. Steve had no confidence the kid was going to come back. He hoped to heck he was wrong, and he was grateful when Bucky started talking again. The words weren’t directed at him, but he was glad to have something to listen to besides his own dark thoughts.

For having spent the last several days ensnared in his own mental breakdown, Bucky was now surprisingly steady. Maybe a part of Steve knew that. Maybe that’s why his mind and body had decided now was the time to give up on him. Either way, he was relieved to let his friend take over. The tears Bucky had been shedding never once made it into his voice as he continued talking to Peter. He used the boy’s name frequently, which was wise, and spent a long time continuing to plead with the kid to snap out of his stupor. When that didn’t work, the coaxing became storytelling instead. 

Bucky talked about everything from WWII to the dog he’d had growing up. Steve remembered the scruffy little thing, Banjo was its name, and Bucky shared the story of when the dog had peed in Steve’s shoe, as well as the time it had bitten his toe so badly he’d needed stitches to keep it attached. Steve had hated that dog, but he and Bucky had laughed about it many times over the years. He wondered why the soldier was sharing the stories with Peter now before he realized, suddenly, that Bucky just wanted the kid to hear his voice. The memories, of course, were for Steve. He was surprised he hadn’t put that together sooner, especially when he realized the tales were, in fact, making him feel calmer. The dread was slowly becoming a little less heavy, and he figured Bucky knew that. He was silently grateful.

Bucky kept talking, sharing story after story, well after his voice had started to go hoarse. A number of hours had to have passed before he finally went quiet. Only then did Steve, still too depressed to do much, open his eyes and lift his head just enough to check on his companions. Peter had finally closed those unnervingly blank eyes, and his gentle breaths led Steve to believe he had fallen asleep. Bucky had also laid down, stretched out close enough to the boy to share his body heat. One of his arms was tucked under Peter’s head, pillowing it from the cement ground. The soldier had drifted off mid-sentence, his mouth still open from the last word he had spoken. 

With the knowledge that they were all as safe as they could hope to be, Steve settled back against the ground. He hated this. He hated that sleeping in a prison cell now constituted safety. He hated that, maybe for the first time in his life, he had given in to fear. For once, he couldn’t, ‘Do this all day.’ Not when Peter was so far gone. Not when Bucky, who had already proven himself to be in a fragile state, had taken on the burden that Steve should have been hauling himself. If something didn’t change, and soon, he feared that all their struggle would be for nothing. This simply wasn’t sustainable. Not for Spider Man. Not for the Winter Soldier. Not for Captain America. 

They were Earth’s mightiest heroes, and they were very nearly broken.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys continue to amaze me with the support and kindness!! I love hearing what you have to say, and I swear that some of your comments have made me well up a few times. I am honored to have such a fantastic group of people interested in reading what I have to offer. As always, thank you so much! You mean the world to me!

The next time they had awakened after Peter’s return had been when the familiar figures of Port and Browning arrived in the doorway of their cell. Steve couldn’t say he was happy to see their captors, but it was almost a relief when the men ordered him to follow them out into the hall. Bucky’s eyes were wide and worried, and Peter still hadn’t stirred. Steve was certain he couldn’t have spent another day watching his friends lose their battles with the mental and physical circumstances HYDRA had created. He followed the men without objection. 

It turned out that the new base wasn’t so different from the previous facility. It was a little darker, the corridors were a bit more narrow, and the temperature felt cooler, but overall it was the same sea of identical, sterile hallways and rows of indistinguishable doors. Steve wasn’t surprised when he was led to a room with bright lights, a metal table complete with restraints, and carts of various medical supplies. Despite the change in location, things seemed to be back to HYDRA’s awful norm. Steve no longer had the willpower to fight their experiments, so when Fields entered the room and ordered him onto the table, he didn’t speak a word of protest. He laid down and remained still as Port and Browning secured his arms and legs. 

The captain had stopped caring what happened to him, but when the professor walked into his field of view, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what they had done to Peter. The response he got was short and unsatisfactory, merely being told that Peter was expected to recover, and that they needed to get started. The tests were unpleasant and took a long time, but they were not as painful as Steve had feared they might be. It seemed like they were testing how much time it took his body to heal, which they had done before, but maybe they were checking the effects of his exhaustion and malnourishment. Browning used a scalpel to draw a series of cuts along his chest and arms, while Port used a stopwatch to time how many minutes it took them to close. The incisions stung, but they were shallow and caused no lasting harm. The deepest cut only took ten minutes to knit itself back together, and when Fields finally seemed satisfied with the results, Steve was released and led back to the cell. 

“What happened?” Bucky demanded the moment the door clanged shut behind him. The soldier was sitting on the ground, Peter’s head resting in his lap. Steve noticed, with a sinking stomach, that the boy’s eyes were open again and staring lifelessly at the ceiling. 

“Nothing too bad.” 

Bucky glared at that answer. “Then why are you covered in dried blood?”

“It was just some small cuts. They’re totally healed.” 

His friend still looked displeased with that, but he changed the subject, nodding toward a plastic tray beside him. “They fed us. I saved you yours.” 

“Thank, God.” He walked to the tray and plopped down next to Bucky. Mentally, he felt too depressed to pick at the gray mystery porridge, but his stomach had other ideas. He ended up inhaling the portion in only a few bites, even licking the remaining flecks from the sides of the plastic bowl. They weren’t being fed nearly enough for a normal man, let alone super soldiers, and his stomach gurgled unhappily when the meal was gone. He picked up the cup of water that had been sitting beside the porridge, bringing his attention back to his companions as he took a sip. He asked what he’d been dreading. “How’s Peter?” 

“More or less the same,” Bucky said sadly. “Some woman came in and gave him an IV for a while. It’s gone now, but I think it was to keep him hydrated. Maybe fed.” 

Steve nodded. That was good. At least Peter wasn’t starving. It wasn’t as if he could afford to lose any more weight. “Has he responded to anything?” 

“Not really. I was hopeful when he woke up. He made some small noises and curled onto his side, but it only lasted a minute. He’s been like this ever since.” Though that wasn’t surprising, Steve still felt a rush of disappointment. He didn’t think he could get much more upset than he already was, but there had been at least a tiny sliver of hope that Peter might have improved with sleep. Bucky must have seen the despair on his face, because his next words were slightly more optimistic. “This doesn’t mean anything. We have no idea what he went through, and he might just need some time. We owe it to him to give him that.” 

Bucky had a point. Steve had been giving up on Peter, and that wasn’t fair. As impossible as it felt, he needed to keep pushing himself to fight. If Bucky could do it, so could he. They couldn’t have a repeat of yesterday. That needed to be a one time thing. He had no business shutting down that way, as much as he wanted to. “Fields told me he’ll recover.” 

Bucky perked up immediately. “He did?” 

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t tell me what happened. I don’t know if I believe him.” 

“Well I’m going to choose to,” Bucky said, determination in his voice. “Dolt’s an asshole, but he usually tells the truth.” 

Steve smiled a little. He didn’t actually feel any better, but hearing Bucky use the nickname Peter had chosen for the professor was encouraging. It reminded him of the kid’s fighting spirit. If there was a way for Peter to come back, the boy would find it. That was the one thing Steve didn’t doubt, and he was actually a bit surprised that Bucky had been the one to remind him of Peter’s strength. For a while there, he hadn’t thought his friend was going to start functioning again at all. It was nice not to feel so alone, and he prayed it would stay that way. 

“I haven’t asked how you’re doing,” Steve said. 

“Let me guess, this is because I freaked out for a few days.” Bucky shot him a half-smile. 

“At least a few days,” Steve said. “And that’s your wording; not mine.” 

“I really am sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. It’s like I heard you trying to get through to me, but I couldn’t respond.” 

That might not have made sense to Steve before yesterday, but after his own meltdown, he thought he had some idea of what Bucky was talking about. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just try not to do it again.” 

“I won’t do it again,” he said. “I promise, but you can’t shut down on me either. I’ve never seen you this low before.” 

“That’s because I’ve never been this low,” he answered honestly. “But I’ll try to keep it together.” 

“That’s all I ask.” 

Ready to change the subject, Steve glanced at Peter again before looking at the cup of water in his hand. “Have you tried getting him to drink something?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I dumped half my water on his face. Nothing.”

“Shoot.” 

“Not the word I used, but same sentiment.” 

“What else can we try?” Without thinking about what he was doing, Steve scooted closer to Peter, his fingers running gently across the boy’s brow and greasy curls that were stuck to it. He didn’t expect a reaction, but it was still strange to see Peter continuing to blink at the ceiling. The two soldiers might as well have not been there at all. 

“I’m out of ideas,” Bucky confessed. “I’ve been making an effort to maintain physical contact and make sure he hears my voice a lot. Anything that he might be able to hold onto if he’s trying to come out of this.” 

“Do you think it’ll help?” 

Bucky shrugged. “It can’t hurt.” He hesitated, lowering his gaze to stare at Peter before speaking again. The question was almost timid. “Any thoughts on what they did to him?” 

Steve had been thinking about that a good deal, and every thought he’d come up with was worse than the last. Bucky still wasn’t looking at him, and he was actually glad not to have to see his expression when he answered. “He must have been tortured, right?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t want to say it, but...yeah.” 

“I don’t know how though.” 

Bucky finally looked up, his eyes misty with tears that hadn’t spilled. He blinked a few times and they were gone. “I think I do.” 

“What? Really?” 

He nodded, pointing to Peter’s mangled right wrist and hand. The whole mess was so misshapen and swollen that Steve didn’t even notice the bracelet until Bucky gestured specifically to it. Like Bucky’s and his own, Peter’s bracelet was pressed snugly against his skin. The only difference was that an inch or so of flesh surrounding Peter’s band was burned almost black. There was dried blood crusted beneath the metal as well. Steve gasped before finding his voice. His words were not steady when he spoke. “The shocks.” 

“I think that’s what happened,” Bucky said. “And it must have been pretty often to burn his skin that badly. You know how fast he heals.” 

“It’s been slower lately,” Steve said, wanting to, in some small way, make this better. 

“It has,” Bucky agreed. “But the bullet wounds healed up. This had to be recurring to get this way, don’t you think?” 

That’s absolutely what he thought, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud. He didn’t want it to be real. “We don’t know anything for sure.” 

“That’s true.” Bucky leaned his head back against the wall, obviously not believing Steve’s words any more than the captain did himself. He looked drained. 

“I saw you sleep last night,” Steve said. “So why doesn’t it look like you got any rest?” 

“I might’ve dozed on and off, but I don’t think I actually slept. I didn’t like the idea of not keeping an eye on him.” He rubbed Peter’s shoulder while he spoke, almost absently. 

“I can take over for a while if you want to close your eyes.” Bucky looked ready to drop, and though Steve’s body was still physically sore and exhausted, his mind was buzzing with anxiety. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to stay awake. He didn’t love the idea of hanging out with an unresponsive teenager while Bucky conked out, but that was only because he was so worried. He reminded himself not to give into the fear. 

Bucky let out a long breath, massaging his eyes with one hand. “I might take you up on that.” 

“You’re gonna. Come on.” 

Steve didn’t wait for permission before shifting Peter out of Bucky’s lap. The kid was still disturbingly cold to the touch, so the captain ended up scooting back against the wall. He pulled Peter until he was partially seated, leaning back on Steve’s chest with his neck and head bent over one shoulder. The kid’s entire body was as limp as jelly as Steve arranged him into what he hoped was a comfortable position. When they were situated, he wrapped both arms around Peter’s upper body, rubbing the boy’s skin in an attempt at friction and warmth. He wished they had a blanket, or even more clothing to spare, but they’d already given Peter half their own wardrobes. 

Bucky was watching them, frowning, as he slumped down on the floor. He tucked his metal arm beneath his head. It couldn’t have made a pleasant pillow, but he looked too tired to care. “You’ll wake me if anything changes, right?” the soldier asked, his eyes already falling closed. 

“You got it.” 

“Try to keep talking to him if you can. He needs to know we’re here.” 

“I will. Night, Buck.” Bucky didn’t respond, his breaths already deepening in sleep. Steve swallowed down a sudden feeling of panic building in his chest. He wasn’t alone again. Bucky wasn’t floating away like he had before; he was just sleeping. That was a good thing. Rest would only make him stronger. There was no reason to flip out. 

In order to calm himself, as well as to keep his promise, he turned his gaze to Peter and started talking. He stumbled over his words at first, interrupting himself with lots of “umms” and “uhhs.” Steve wasn’t one for mindless chatter in the first place, so talking to someone who wasn’t going to respond was a challenge. He was gaining greater appreciation for how long Bucky had kept up the stream of words the previous day. He wasn’t eloquent enough to come up with countless stories, and eventually started reciting songs out of desperation. He didn’t sing out loud on his good days, so he just spoke the lyrics. It wasn’t great. But it was something. 

“If your knees go knockety-knock; it's love-love-love. If you're coo-koo like the coo-koo in the clock; it's love-love-love...Jeez, Pete. Wake up and spare me this,” he groaned after a long time, banging his head gently against the wall behind him. It felt like he’d been talking forever. He wouldn’t have resorted to Guy Lombardo’s “Love-Love-Love'' otherwise. He was just glad Bucky wasn’t awake to make fun of him for it. 

“I don’...know...tha’ one.” 

Steve was imagining things. He figured he must have been imagining things, to the point where he was actually scared to look down. He could already feel his hands shaking. If he let himself believe this, and then it turned out his mind was playing tricks on him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take it. That, however, wasn’t enough to make him keep ignoring the voice. The words were so weak, so shredded and broken, that he’d barely been able to make them out in the first place. Surely his mind wouldn’t have conjured details like that. He took a deep breath and looked down. 

There was a pair of brown eyes staring up at him. Peter still looked a little glazed, but there was life in his expression now. Steve had to swallow three times before finding his own voice, bringing a hand to Peter’s face at the same time. He stroked one sunken cheek with his thumb, hoping it would help the kid feel grounded and safe. “Hey...hey, Peter. I can’t...I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you awake.” He was stuttering. His throat felt tight. He reached out the hand that wasn’t cupping Peter’s face to smack Bucky’s leg. 

“Wha’...what?” he startled awake, sitting halfway and rubbing his eyes. 

“Buck.” The soldier followed his friend’s wild gaze to the figure in his lap, and his mouth instantly fell open. He had scrambled to the boy’s side in seconds. 

“Peter? Pete, you with us?” He was speaking gently, but Steve could tell it was taking effort. Bucky was practically panting. 

Peter’s gaze moved very slowly, blinking and pausing at various spots around the cell, before finally settling on Bucky. He smiled at him drunkenly. “Hi...Miss’r Barnes.” 

Bucky returned the grin, though Steve could tell he was continuing to fight down his frantic energy. The soldier brought a hand to Peter’s neck, resting gently on his throat while one thumb traveled comfortingly across his jaw. It was as if they both needed to touch him to know that this was real. “Hi.” He looked at Steve. “How long?” 

“He just came out of it.” 

Bucky returned his full focus to the kid. “How are you feeling, Peter? Are you in any pain? I’m sure you must be.” 

“I’m…” He kept blinking, looking distracted. His voice was pretty much ruined, coming out in slow, cracked pieces. He wrinkled his forehead. “Ben…Ben...said we’d...go...You here to...go...go...park?” 

Steve wasn’t surprised that Peter wasn’t making sense, but he wasn’t a fan of the moans that kept breaking up the kid’s words. Peter didn’t seem aware that it was happening. Bucky looked concerned about it too, but his voice was steady, bright even, when he spoke to Peter. “When we get out of here, Steve and I’ll take you to any park you’d like. Who’s Ben?” 

“Ben...Ben…” Peter’s eyes started wandering around the room again, and Bucky quickly gripped his chin to make him focus. 

“Eyes on me, Peter.” 

It worked. His gaze returned to Bucky, but he still looked confused. “Ben…?” 

“Ben’s not here right now, but you don’t need to worry about that, because Steve and I have got you. Do you know us? You said my name a minute ago.” 

Peter shifted a little against Steve, his legs beginning to slide agitatedly across the floor. The lines between his eyes deepened. “Why…? He said...park. Mmmm!” The sudden moan was long and loud, and Peter pressed his head back hard against Steve’s shoulder. His functional hand balled into a fist. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Steve tried to comfort, tightening his grip around the boy. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no….” 

“Shh,” Bucky interrupted his stream. “You’re safe. We’re here. What hurts?” 

“No...I won’t...I won’t...Mmmm!” Peter began to twist onto his side, and Steve helped him along, continuing to cushion the kid with his own body. When he was there, Peter pulled his arms and legs toward his chest. Steve’s hand moved from Peter’s face to rub along the tight muscles of his back. 

Bucky ended up on the floor, lying beside the, now trembling, figure. He moved until their faces were inches apart. “Ride it out, Pete. You’ve just gotta ride it out. We’re right here. Right here.” 

“It’s too...too...too...soon.”

“Too soon for what?” Steve asked, hating that this was how Peter had woken up. Everything was violent here. Nothing was quiet or easy anymore. 

“Told Ben...I...I told...Ben…” If possible, he curled up tighter. Bucky’s hand found its way to his hair, and Peter took several shuddering breaths before trying again. “I wanted...to...to drift. I wanted…” He broke off suddenly, stiffening. His eyes grew wide. 

“Peter?” The concern in Bucky’s voice echoed how Steve felt. 

“Wait...wait…” 

“What is it, Peter?” Steve asked. 

“Am I drifting?” The sentence actually came out whole. 

“Drifting?” Bucky said. “I’m not sure what you mean. You’re right here. You’re with us.” 

“But...but for real?” 

“This is real,” Steve said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Peter was distressingly disoriented. 

“Then...it’s over?” 

“It’s over,” Bucky answered immediately, even though he couldn’t possibly have known to what Peter had been referring. “Just try to relax. What can we do to help?”

“You’re...here.” Peter’s voice, torn to ribbons in the first place, was failing him. The last word was more of a broken hiss than anything else, but his expression had calmed. Everything about him was still strained in obvious agony, but it seemed like his mind was settling. He was watching Bucky, his eyes opening and closing slowly, and the soldier held his gaze unwaveringly. Steve hadn’t stopped rubbing Peter’s back, and Bucky’s hand continued to travel through the tangle of curls. They both knew that the kid tried not to let them coddle him, even when he clearly needed the comfort, but right now was different. They needed to keep him present. It seemed like he was holding onto lucidity by a thread. 

“I’m so sorry we ever left,” Bucky said. 

Peter stopped trying to talk, but he didn’t quit watching Bucky. He kept his body in its tight ball, jerking occasionally and letting out soft grunts and whimpers of pain. It wasn’t like anything Steve had seen before. He could tell Peter was miserable, but the kid remained mostly quiet. He wasn’t even crying, and the captain started to wonder if he could. Perhaps Peter had been hurt so badly that normal reactions to it no longer sufficed. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t screaming or sobbing, and why he had hardly even moved. It was possible he was beyond the point of being able to do those things. The thought made Steve feel sick.

They stayed that way for a while, the two soldiers supporting and rubbing on Peter in a poor attempt to bring him relief. They also kept talking to him, even though the boy was no longer responding. Bucky was, again, better at finding words than Steve, and the captain hoped their combined efforts would be enough to prevent Peter from slipping away again. The kid was still moving very little, and his sounds were nearly non-existent. It was horribly obvious that he was in an extraordinary amount of pain. The eyes that remained locked on Bucky were wide and frighteningly calm. Steve was starting to believe that even Peter was incapable of fully comprehending what he’d been through; what he was continuing to go through. 

“You’re so strong,” Bucky was murmuring for about the dozenth time. “I mean that. You’re the toughest kid I’ve ever met. I’m so impressed with how well you’re keeping those eyes open. Right on mine. Keep it up. You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Buck?” Steve said his name quietly, and the soldier answered without moving his eyes from Peter’s.

“Yeah?” 

“How long are you planning on making him stay awake?” 

“As long as I can.” 

The answer didn’t surprise Steve. He even wished he could get on board with his friend’s intentions. Letting Peter lose consciousness after they had waited so long for him to piece his mind back together the first time seemed, on one hand, largely irresponsible, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that encouraging him to stay awake might be equally bad. There was no way to know for sure, but it felt like it had been a fairly long time since Peter had first spoken. The kid was so broken down that the captain knew his body must be desperate for rest. The longer he watched the frail, suffering figure draw in shallow breaths, and the longer he felt the fragile bones shivering against his own body, the worse he felt about asking him to stay up. 

Bucky was already talking to Peter again, but Steve made himself interrupt. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“That’s so great, Pete. I’m right here. I’m right...Of course it’s a good idea.” 

Bucky sounded so certain, almost harsh, that Steve considered dropping it. He was quiet for another few minutes until Peter let out another one of his rare, rattly whimpers. The kid closed his eyes, but Bucky was quick to order them open once more, praising Peter repeatedly once he’d obeyed. It wasn’t right. 

“You’ve gotta let him.” 

“Eyes on me. You’re so...Let him what?” 

Steve took a deep breath. “You have to let him sleep. We both do. I know it’s scary, but…” 

“No.” He dragged his gaze from Peter for the first time, just long enough to glare at Steve, before returning it immediately. 

“This isn’t fair. You know this isn’t fair to him.” 

“He can take it. Isn’t that right, Peter? Can’t you stay awake for us?” They watched Peter blink a few times, and even open and close his mouth like he wanted to speak. It was only a moment before he gave up, shifting a little closer to the hand in his hair.

Steve’s next words were low. He was wishing Peter wouldn’t hear them, but knew that was unlikely. “He’s hurting.” 

“I know that.” It was practically growled, and most people probably would have found that a bit frightening coming from Bucky. Steve wasn’t most people. He recognized the tone for what it was. Terror. 

Steve didn’t know if it was because he had heard the conversation and taken it as permission, or if he simply couldn’t hold out any longer, but at the moment Peter’s eyes slid closed and didn’t open. Bucky looked like he wanted to wake him again, but hesitated, shooting a tortured glance toward his friend. Steve tried to look reassuring, even as he felt Peter go limp in his lap. “Let him.” 

“What if he doesn’t come back?” It was whispered. 

“He will.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

They were both silent for a beat, watching the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s chest. There was no sense in arguing with those words, because the truth was they didn’t know if Peter would wake up again. There was no certainly that his mind would recover from its damaged hallucinations a second time. He’d hardly been there in the first place, and there was nothing to do but wait and hope that his body and mind would overcome the obstacles HYDRA had cemented into his path. 

“He’s strong.” Steve finally settled on something he knew to be true. 

“Peter doesn’t know that.” 

“No,” Steve agreed. They had both seen Peter doubt himself through their entire capture, even though he was unbelievably tenacious, clever, and brave. “But that hasn’t stopped him yet. He’s much more capable than he realizes.” 

“He is.” Bucky looked slightly calmer, but he hadn’t stopped stroking Peter’s hair even though the kid definitely wouldn’t be able to feel it while sleeping. Steve didn’t blame his friend for wanting to feel useful. 

“You okay?” 

“Do you think Stark is going to find us?” The sudden question caught Steve off guard. Bucky never talked about Tony. He knew he didn’t feel he deserved to, after everything that had happened.

“Yes. I think I do.” 

Bucky stared at him hard. “Do you think it will be soon enough?” 

That was a more difficult question. What was soon enough? Before one of them died? Before they completely lost their sanity? Before HYDRA turned them into cowering husks, or worse, mindless, drooling puppets? 

“I don’t know.” 

“That’s what I was afraid of. You know…” Bucky let out a long breath. “I’m worried about Peter. And I mean besides the obvious. Even if he does wake up, even if his body heals, I think...I mean...I’m scared that mentally he’s too far gone. He’s pliable, Steve. That’s right where they’re going to want him. I don’t think, at this point, there’s going to be much we can do to stop that.” 

“Don’t go there.” If he let Bucky think that way, there’d be nothing he could do to stop himself from stumbling down the same road. 

“It’s what they do.” Bucky said it softly. He knew what he was talking about. He knew from experience.

“Don’t,” Steve repeated. “Just don’t.” 

Bucky’s fears were well-founded, but it wasn’t something Steve could think about. They were barely holding on as it was. Bucky had already left him once, Peter was terrifyingly unstable, and Steve had suffered his own breakdown less than a day ago. Right now, he needed to focus on keeping himself composed. If he fell apart again, he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Bucky, and he most definitely wouldn’t be able to support Peter through what was bound to be a horrendous recovery period. If he also took on the fear of losing the kid to HYDRA’s schemes, it would crush him. None of them could afford to have him crushed. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “You didn’t need that.” 

“None of us need this. It’s just where we are.” 

Where they were was hell, but that wasn’t something that needed to be said out loud.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are incredible! Truly. I have been brought close to tears so many times with the kindness of your comments. You are an unbelievably patient and encouraging group of people, and there really aren't words for how much I appreciate you. I've been built up by so many of you, and I don't know what I've done to deserve it. Just consider me grateful!
> 
> This chapter is another slow burn, filled with a good deal of sadness. Don't worry too much, though, because the next chapter should have more action! Thank you for continuing to be patient as I do my best to keep updating!

At least a couple more days passed. Knowing exactly how many remained impossible, but Steve and Bucky slept twice more and were given another meal. An unfamiliar woman in a lab coat arrived at one point to hook Peter up to an IV for a few hours. He wasn’t eating or drinking, but whatever they were giving him intravenously was, at the very least, keeping him alive. Steve tried to hold onto any upsides, although they were increasingly few and far between. 

Peter remained largely unresponsive. He slept often, but also woke frequently enough that the soldiers stopped worrying so much when he rested. What was upsetting was that they never knew in what state they would find him upon his awakenings. He had fallen back into that glazed, unreachable place a number of times already, but fortunately those episodes didn’t last as long as the first time. The kid was always confused upon coming out of it, asking for Ben, May, or Tony every time it happened. They still didn’t know who Ben and May were, but figured they were important in Peter’s life.

The handful of times he seemed lucid, Peter always tucked himself onto his side and took panting, shallow breaths. Sometimes he shifted or rocked a tiny bit where he laid, but for the most part he was still. His voice remained too wrecked for him to speak more than a few scratchy words, or to moan quietly through his teeth, but it remained disturbingly obvious that the kid’s pain wasn’t getting much better. When he was able, he dug himself closer to whoever was holding him at that moment, and it broke Steve’s heart a little each time that happened. Until recently, it hadn’t been in Peter’s nature to actively seek out comfort. He was broken down and hurting enough to begin behaving like the child he actually was, and seeing it happen was difficult, to say the least. 

Like Steve, Bucky had been taken once by a couple of Fields’ scientists. Peter had been aware of his surroundings at the time, and the captain almost wished he’d been sleeping or glazed over instead. For once, Bucky had gone quietly when he was ordered to accompany the men out into the hall, and Steve suspected that was only for Peter’s sake. The kid had freaked out, at least as much as he was able, when he’d realized Bucky was being taken away. He had slapped his one good hand weakly against the floor, and squirmed slightly in Steve’s hold, moaning and rasping out Bucky’s name until he’d exhausted himself. It didn’t take long for that to happen, and once he’d gone boneless Steve had held him and rubbed his back and the base of his scalp until Bucky returned. It took a while for the soldier to get back, but Peter didn’t fall asleep the whole time. Steve had watched a single tear appear on the boy’s cheek, knowing there would likely have been more if he wasn’t so dehydrated. 

When Bucky was shoved back into the cell, he’d been sore, but not badly harmed. He’d quickly explained that they had, as with Steve, tested his healing. He agreed that HYDRA was likely repeating some tests because they were getting so weak, but didn’t seem overly interested in discussing it. Peter’s giant eyes had locked onto him the moment he’d returned, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to take over Steve’s position. The captain could have sworn that Peter physically relaxed some once he was leaning against Bucky, and in a few more minutes the kid was asleep. Steve had never seen Bucky so protective. It was almost paternal, and he was just glad Peter was finding some comfort from the soldier. Heaven knew he needed it. 

Gauging the time by sleep and hunger, Steve guessed that another day, possibly two, had gone by since Bucky had last been taken. By then, it was becoming obvious they’d reached a point where none of them was making much effort beyond basic survival. At the previous facility, no matter how difficult things became, at least one of them always remained positive enough to pull the other two out of even their worst slumps. It hadn’t always been easy to do, but they were motivated enough at the time to make it happen. Here, though, it seemed to Steve that eating their occasional meals was about the extent of what they were able to manage on any given day. Even waking up seemed like too much effort when they were aware of the nothing that awaited them. Gone were the hours of funny stories and shared pep talks, just as the taunting and insults toward their captors had all but evaporated. 

Beyond existing (and of course continuing to keep Peter as stable and comfortable as possible), Steve and Bucky did not strive for any quality of life. They had even given up on their previous efforts at remaining the slightest bit in shape. The cell was too small for any real exercise, and the lack of decent nutrition left them too lethargic to feel like trying anyway. Even if they accomplished the impossible and discovered a way out of their prison, it was likely they’d be too weak to stage a successful escape. Ever since becoming a super soldier, Steve had never questioned his physical capabilities. Having to do so now did not come easily. 

At the moment, he was sitting up against the wall across from Bucky and Peter. The uneven cement was scratchy and uncomfortable on the bare skin of his back, but Steve couldn’t seem to make himself care enough about that to move. Bucky was, as usual, talking to Peter, but the captain was no longer listening to the words. They had grown largely repetitive since the soldier had begun running out of new things to say. It made sense (Bucky only ever stopped the stream of words when Peter was sleeping), but that didn’t mean Steve felt motivated to keep paying attention. Instead, he found himself staring at Peter. 

After falling asleep on Bucky when he’d returned to their cell, Peter had next awoken (if they could even call it that) under another of his absent spells. He’d remained glassy and unreachable for what felt like many hours before coming out of it talking to Tony. He’d continued his confused mumblings until Bucky was finally (with more patience than Steve still possessed) able to bring him back to the present. Since then, Peter hadn’t left them again. If anything, he seemed more lucid than ever; not that the bar was set very high on that. 

As Bucky continued with his stories, Peter actually responded a few times. His voice remained torn and difficult to understand, but the fact that he was attempting to join in the conversation at all was huge. He eventually went as far as requesting to sit up. That had been enough to draw Steve away from his spot against the wall, and together he and Bucky had, incredibly slowly and gently, lifted Peter up until he sat leaning back against Bucky’s chest. The kid closed his eyes and moaned quietly for a few minutes after the change in position, but ultimately regained enough control to look at them both and give a weak, “Thanks.” It bothered Steve that something so minor brought him a rush of relief, but considering how bad off Peter had been, it felt like reason to celebrate. The captain shared a quick grin with Bucky, but otherwise remained calm for Peter’s sake. The boy needed peace and stability, and Steve was determined to give him the tiny bit of that they were able to obtain within their prison. 

When the cell door next groaned open, Steve expected that he, or maybe Bucky, was about to be taken for additional tests. As long as Peter didn’t panic again, he felt more okay with that than he knew he should have. What he didn’t anticipate was for Port, Browning, Simmons, and Dalton Fields himself to all enter the room, Browning pushing a rolling gurney with rattling restraints. Before Steve had so much as finished drawing in his gasp of surprise, the paralyzing shocks were already flowing through his body. As he collapsed sideways against the cement, he was able to see Bucky go limp as well, Peter falling bonelessly on top of him. Steve didn’t think the kid had been shocked, but he was still too weak to hold himself upright without the soldier’s support. 

“Sorry about that,” Fields said, even though they all knew he wasn’t the slightest bit remorseful. “But I needed you two calm in order to take Peter for observation. I assumed you would be opposed to the idea.” 

Steve gaped at the man from his spot on the floor, swallowing back a slew of threats and pleading. Peter was in no state to be moved, let alone to be taken for more of HYDRA’s sick experiments, but yelling at Fields wasn’t going to help. Before he was able to calm himself down enough to talk, Bucky spoke up, surprising Steve with the evenness of his words. 

“Of course we’re opposed. Your people have been in and out of here. You know how fragile he is.” The fact that Peter didn’t immediately object to being described in such a way only added strength to Bucky’s argument. By turning his head and stretching his neck at a strange angle, Steve was able to make out his companions on the floor beside him. Peter hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen on top of Bucky. It looked like he had even snuggled closer.

“It’s not a negotiation,” Fields said, nodding toward the scientists. 

At the cue, Port and Simmons approached Peter, one man hooking his hands under the boy’s armpits while the other grasped his legs. They seemed to have a bit more trouble lifting the emaciated frame than anyone had anticipated. Peter was begging in faint whimpers not to be taken from his companions, his face buried against Bucky’s chest, and his functional hand clinging to the soldier’s shirt in a desperate grip. All the while, Bucky somehow remained collected, switching between bargaining with Fields and offering Peter words of comfort. Steve joined him in the former, pleading with their captors to leave the boy be. To take him instead. Anything to protect a mere child who was barely holding on as it was. 

None of their efforts did any good. With a final yank, the fabric of Bucky’s shirt ripped until Peter was being lifted, the wad of material still clutched in his hand. At the rough motion, the kid let out a crackling, damaged noise that was as close to a scream as his voice would allow. He was laid down on the gurney, where he instantly curled onto his side in a small, trembling heap. If there was anything about which to be thankful, it was that no one moved to make him lie flat or fasten the dangling restraints. 

“Peter,” Bucky said, his voice finally cracking as they realized there was nothing they could do to prevent this. “Hold on. Whatever happens, just please hold on.” 

“Touching,” Simmons muttered cruelly, following the small group as they began from the room, Browning rolling the gurney with them. When the door clanged shut behind them, Steve heard Bucky collapse into gasping sobs. It took him a moment to realize that he, too, had tears running down his cheeks. 

They did not speak to one another as they waited for the paralysis to wear off. There was nothing to be said. Peter was gone, again, and Steve couldn’t get the look of terror and pain on the kid’s face out of his head. No matter how advanced Peter was, Steve didn’t think he’d be able to survive this much longer. He knew, without asking, that Bucky felt the same. They were watching a friend, a child, waste away before them, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.   
___

Foggy. Everything was so constantly foggy now. Drifting remained crystal, but that relief was coming less and less frequently. Whenever he did manage to make his way into a fantasy, whoever he met, be it May, Ben, or Mr. Stark, was always quick to send him back to reality. It was frustrating. He was just so exhausted. He hurt so much. There weren’t words for the ceaseless pain that coursed through every last inch of his body. Inside and out, the bottomless ache and searing fire that had replaced bone, muscle, and skin was more than he could handle. He couldn’t take it anymore, and nothing was clear. His brain was mushy, refusing to focus on much of anything. He had flashes. Brief moments of clarity where he was certain (or at least fairly sure) that he was back with Bucky and Steve. He heard their voices and felt their touches, but it was always through a sheen of mist. Nothing was solid. 

Maybe that was why it was taking him so long to accept what was happening now. He’d kept his eyes closed, hoping to make it go away, but wasn’t able to fully block out the shuttering motion and squeaking of unoiled wheels. When that eventually stopped, the gurney going still, he could see a change in light through his eyelids. He had been brought somewhere slightly warmer, and much brighter, than the cell. That might have been reassuring if he wasn’t also aware of the men who surrounded him. He thought that possibly, if he refused to look at them, Fields and the scientists would cease to be real, but no matter how screwed up his brain was at the moment, he couldn’t convince it of that.

For a while they didn’t speak to him, instead muttering orders back and forth. Peter remained mostly limp, trying and failing to smother some of his fear and pain while the figures moved around him. He felt several needles enter his hand and the crook of his arm, something stiff and plastic clipped onto his finger, and multiple pairs of hands touching and poking at him with various instruments. None of it hurt, but he knew that could change at any moment. He assumed they were taking his vitals, especially when a machine started beeping somewhere beside him. It sounded somewhat muffled, but he figured that was due to the fact that his senses were all screwed up. That apparently happened when days of torture had turned your brain to sludge. 

“Peter?” The voice came after he had been turned onto his back. When he didn’t respond, he felt a warm hand on his cheek. “Peter, I know you’re with us. Please open your eyes.” It was phrased as a request, but the firmness of the tone left no question that he had been given a command. The voice wasn’t exactly angry, but it was also nothing like the gentle coaxing that Bucky and Steve had been practicing. It still took him a minute, but Peter finally worked up the courage to obey. He squinted for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted to the light. It wasn’t overstimulating; just more than he was used to. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded by Browning, Port, Simmons, and two unfamiliar women who were also dressed in lab coats. Fields was hovering over him, wearing his usual suit with one hand on the boy’s cheek. He smiled when Peter met his too-green gaze.

“There you are.” The man’s words were encouraging, but to Peter they felt condescending. Fields’ expression was a bit too smug. He looked like he had won at something, and he probably had. “I understand that things have been unpleasant recently. You made a foolish attempt at escape, attacked me and my men in the process, and threw a wrench into any progress we had made together. I responded by letting you experience some of the worst days of your life. I needed you to be aware that your being treated with respect and dignity is not a guarantee, but a privilege. It’s something you have to earn, but I suspect you have learned that much by now. If I am correct in that assumption, then we should have no further problems. What I demand is your complete cooperation that I hope, one day, can flourish into true loyalty. I recognize that your allegiance may take time to grow. Right now, it might even feel impossible that you could ever get there, and that’s alright. For the time I just need your compliance, and I don’t imagine that will be a problem. Do you agree? A yes or no will suffice. I know your voice is still recovering.” 

Fields had just spoken a lot of words at once, and though he’d tried, Peter had not followed all of what the man had said. Comprehension was iffy, but he’d gotten the gist. HYDRA wanted him to follow orders with no resistance. He was well past wanting to fight. In fact, he was so far past defiance that you’d need binoculars to see it in the distance. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and sore. Fields had said something about a yes or no response, but Peter wasn’t sure what. He didn’t want to risk a wrong answer, so he forced his voice to work. The words sounded (and felt) like two brillo pads rubbing together. 

“I...want to...be good. Sir.” He threw in the last word for good measure, and Fields positively beamed. 

“And I believe you.” The hand on his cheek rose to his hair, stroking through the greasy locks in what Peter assumed was praise. That should have made him happy, but instead it felt a little gross. Wrong. Not at all like the comfort the soldiers had offered. Because his thoughts were still so addled, he couldn’t figure out what the difference was. Luckily, the touch didn’t last long. 

“You will stay as you are for a bit longer,” Fields said. “I know you’re not understanding everything at the moment, but this is a reward. You are currently being pumped full of fluids and nutrients that are going to help you feel stronger and, hopefully, a bit more clear. We’re also keeping an eye on your vitals. You have a fever, but it’s nothing critical. We will continue observing that. When we’re done here, you will be allowed a hot bath. I’m sure it will feel good to be warm and clean.” 

A bath sounded amazing. Though it was far from the top of his list of grievances, Peter had never felt so grimy in his life. He was also so tired of being uncomfortably cold. If being good for Fields brought him perks like this, he wasn’t sure why he’d resisted for so long in the first place. He found his voice again. “Thank...you...Sir.” 

“I like this new attitude. I think all this recent unpleasantness might actually have done you some good.” 

Peter knew he probably should have felt horrified when he found himself agreeing with Fields. It seemed like it should have been impossible to view the torture he had been through, was still going through, as beneficial on any level. What HYDRA had done to him was horrific. Nothing in his life had ever been so, not only physically devastating, but also deeply degrading and hope-shattering. Even in his current state of utter brokenness, Peter knew he hadn’t deserved any of what had happened. He knew that HYDRA was wrong, and yet he was also beginning to consider that not deserving the suffering, and not being smart enough to avoid it, might be two very different things. If his recent punishment had been enough to make him stop fighting (and as a result getting himself additionally hurt), then it had, “done some good,” after all. Fields was pleased, and because of that Peter was being cared for. It would be stupid not to capitalize on that. Right?

The professor had removed the hand from Peter’s hair, stepping away to check over some of his colleague’s notes. It didn’t seem like he was required to give any more answers, so Peter closed his eyes again. He didn’t feel like he was going to start drifting, but continuing to sort through his jumbled, shapeless thoughts felt like too much effort. The gurney beneath him was cushioned, and felt better than the hard floors he’d gotten used to in the recent days, or weeks, he wasn’t sure. He hoped that if he relaxed, enjoyed as much of the comfort as HYDRA was willing to offer, that Bucky, Steve, and Mr. Stark wouldn’t be too disappointed in him if they ever found out. He was supposed to show defiance to his last breath. At least, that’s what an Avenger would do. For once, though, being an Avenger didn’t seem so important. All he’d gotten by trying to imitate his idols was pain. That couldn’t be what his friends wanted for him. Maybe it was okay if he wasn’t cut out for that life. 

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Peter knew he was submerged to the neck in something blissfully warm. It took him a moment to fully wake up and realize he was in the bath Fields had promised. He enjoyed the heat of the water for a few moments without opening his eyes. It felt so good to go limp and mostly float. His back was resting on the bottom of the tub, and his head was tilted back over the rim, but other than that his body was weightless in the water. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been cold, and the water’s warmth seemed to work its way deep into his aching muscles. He didn’t even realize right away that the moisture on his face was not water, but tears of relief. Apparently he was able to cry again. It was the first time in days he had been hydrated enough to do so. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Fields’ voice, not a foot away, startled him, but not as much as it should have. Peter opened his eyes, first taking in the rippling water surrounding his body, steam rising from its surface. The tub was white, and not very large, and the surrounding room was also fairly small. It was lined entirely in white tile, with a wooden shelf filled with folded towels against one wall. There were no toilets or sinks, so it wasn’t a normal bathroom, but rather than thinking too much about the oddness of the chamber, Peter drew his gaze to the man crouched beside the bath. 

“Feels good.” 

“I’m glad. It’s supposed to.” 

“Thank...you.” The man grinned at that, and a part of Peter, a part he had buried far back in the depths of his mind, couldn’t believe he was thanking his captor for the dignity of washing himself of filth. He didn’t linger on it though, because a much larger portion of his brain was focused on survival. It was the same part that didn’t want to hurt anymore. 

“Keep this up, and things are going to become so much easier for you.” 

Peter hoped that Fields was telling the truth about that. He realized his eyes were closed again, but had no memory of commanding them to do so. It felt nice to rest, so he didn’t try to open them again. He just wanted to appreciate the feeling of being comfortable. That was relative, of course, because his entire body still hurt so much more than he could stand, but at least he was finally distracted by something better. He didn’t need perfect. He just needed better. Better than the hard floor and never-ending shocks that seared his nerve endings and made him feel like he was losing his mind. 

It wasn’t long before he heard Fields rise to his feet and retreat from the room. Peter could tell he wasn’t alone. There were others. He heard voices that sounded muffled through the soup of his mind, and in a little while even felt a pair of hands scrubbing his hair and using a soft, soapy cloth on his skin. He should have felt violated. He was pretty sure he was naked (it wouldn’t really make sense to be wearing clothes in a bathtub), and he had no idea whose hands were touching him, but he’d already been through so much that was dehumanizing that having a stranger help him bathe no longer seemed like a big deal. It also helped that the touch was gentle. The fingernails against his scalp, and the soap washing away the filth of his torture, felt too good to deny. He leaned back and allowed himself to enjoy it.

After the bath, still largely dazed, Peter was dried thoroughly with a cottony towel and changed into boxers, sweatpants, and a thick, long-sleeved t-shirt that all fit him a lot better than the clothes he had borrowed from Bucky and Steve. He was exhausted and sore, but also warmer and more relaxed than he had been in a long time. He wasn’t able to move much, or really even focus, so he left his eyes closed as he was carried to a new location. He couldn’t muster the strength to take in his surroundings, even when he was laid on what felt like a soft cot and covered in a thick blanket. He rolled onto his side, hugging himself and willing the pain to lessen. The fluids, nutrients, and bath had all probably made him stronger, but being moved around had also taken its toll. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell he had been left alone, and no matter how comfortable the mattress beneath him, or how toasty the clothes and blanket, he found himself missing Bucky and Steve. 

As much as he wanted to, Peter had begun to accept that there was a good chance he would never again see May or Mr. Stark. HYDRA all but owned him now, and he was doing his best to come to terms with that. The thing was, no matter how overwhelming his new reality felt, he’d gotten used to the soldiers getting him through it. Even with the improved conditions, being alone again was scary. So far, nothing good had happened when he’d been separated from his friends, and he missed Bucky’s voice easing him through the waves of pain. Most of the time he hadn’t even been able to focus on the words, but he’d known he wasn’t on his own. Steve had been quieter, but the large hand that often rubbed his back, and the occasional words of encouragement, hadn’t gone unnoticed. If he was going to hang on, he needed them both. 

Peter could accept that HYDRA had defeated him. He thought, in time, he would even be able to accept that his old life, his old friends and family, were a thing of the past. It would emotionally slaughter him, but he could do it. What he couldn’t accept was an existence with his captors without anything familiar. They had been strangers such a short time ago, but now Peter thought that if he didn’t go through this with Bucky and Steve, that he wouldn’t make it at all. He just hoped they would be reunited soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my incredibly marvelous and most patient of readers! As usual, you have blown me away with your willingness to keep up with this story and, on top of that, write me some truly touching comments. Hearing what you guys think of my work is one of my favorite things in the world, and knowing that you're enjoying it keeps me motivated no matter how much a chapter is fighting me. I'm seriously moved by the kindness and support, and even though I don't respond to individual comments, I want you all to know that every post is read and taken completely to heart. I cherish you guys and all you have to say. Truly. You're amazing! Thank you!

It finally happened at what felt like the last possible moment. At least a day had passed since Peter had been taken from them. The paralysis had worn off somewhat quickly, and though Steve had sat up, swatting at the wetness on his cheeks, Bucky had made no effort to move. He continued to lie where he had fallen, gasping on quiet sobs until his tears eventually ran out. Even then he had not attempted to get up, and though Steve knew the behavior was dangerous, knew that Bucky was slipping into a dark place from which he might not return, the captain simply couldn’t muster the energy to try and stop the spiral. He was actually considering joining his friend, shutting off the part of his brain that still cared about survival and hope, and succumbing to whatever HYDRA had planned. It seemed easier than watching his companions disappearing before him; becoming empty shells in place of the brilliant, funny, capable people they had once been. Maybe it wouldn’t be so painful if he joined them. Acceptance might even be refreshing. 

That disturbingly appealing thought was the last to flutter through Steve’s brain before a loud crashing sound against the door startled him back to reality. He met Bucky’s equally surprised stare, relieved that his friend wasn’t too far gone to react to it. Another bang came, and the metal of the door shuttered. The cell was decently soundproofed, so the fact that something was happening close enough for them to hear was huge. Both soldiers jumped to their feet, facing the door. Steve realized the small act of standing left him shaky and lightheaded, but he did his best to push the newfound weakness to the back of his mind. They’d barely been eating, and he’d been practically motionless for days. He should have expected it. 

The banging came a third time, followed by the sound of gunfire. “What the hell is going on?” Bucky muttered, his voice raspy from disuse. 

Steve just shook his head. He’d all but given up on the Avengers finding them, but who else would be attacking a HYDRA base? He thought that maybe Peter had...but no, the kid was way too hurt to be making any kind of stand. That had to mean…With a final, deafening clang, the door slammed inward, hitting the wall hard enough to crack the cement. Standing in the doorway, hands raised, repulsors glowing, was Iron Man. He lowered his hands the moment he saw the inhabitants of the cell, striding briskly inside. He spoke before Steve could open his mouth. 

“Where is he?” 

“They took him.” Bucky’s response came instantly. His face, so broken only moments before, had become a solid mask of determination. 

Steve couldn’t see Tony’s expression through the Iron Man faceplate, but he was shocked when his friend (Were they still friends?) turned to address his parent’s assassin. “When?” 

“A day ago. Maybe longer. It’s not the first time. He’s here somewhere.” 

“Help me look, but be careful. This place is a maze, and it’s absolutely crawling with agents.” 

“What about the team?” Steve finally remembered how to speak, still working to accept that this was happening. This was real. 

“They’re on their way, SHIELD too, but they’re at least a half hour out. I wasn’t sure about this lead until I was actually here.” He paused, looking Steve, shirtless, filthy, and emaciated, up and down. “You look like hell, Rogers.” 

“Not at the top of my game,” he admitted. 

“Can you still throw a punch?” 

“Once this is off.” He held up his braceleted wrist. “It causes paralysis and some pretty painful electrical shocks. It’s vibranium; controlled mentally. One of the agents has to remove it.” 

“Shit,” Tony hissed. “I’ve got to find Peter before they try to get him out of here. Just stay close until we get the bracelets sorted.” 

Tony was right. They couldn’t wait, and Bucky seemed to agree, because he was the first one through the door. Tony and Steve were right behind him, and the captain finally got his first look at the facility from outside the cell. Tony hadn’t been kidding. It was all narrow identical hallways with rows of matching doors. A definite maze. 

Bucky must have been as confused as Steve felt, because he had frozen just outside the door, head swiveling from side to side as if searching for a clue about which direction they should choose. Tony wordlessly muscled past him, choosing a path with confidence and moving down the hall at just under a sprint. The soldiers were right behind him, and Steve tried not to look too closely at the ground outside the cell. No one mentioned it, but Tony had left a pile of at least six bodies, blood, and rubble in the hallway. Steve didn’t blame him. They were HYDRA agents, and the captain wouldn’t have shown them any more mercy than Tony if their roles had been reversed, but that didn’t mean he wanted to memorize the scene of carnage either. Fortunately, it was soon far enough behind them that their fading, bloody footprints were the only reminder of what they had just walked across. 

Tony blasted through doors at random as they continued down the hall, seemingly beyond the point of caring about stealth. HYDRA already knew he was there, so attempting to cover their tracks would only slow them down. They heard distant shouting after breaking into the eleventh or twelfth room, revealing a large space that was empty but for rows of expensive-looking computers. Tony let out a short sound of anger before sending a repulsor beam into the room. They kept moving, the satisfying sound and smell of burning technology behind them. They knew it wouldn’t be long before the agents caught up. 

As they continued their search, HYDRA did not disappoint. They ran into groups of agents four different times. The largest was composed of a dozen heavily-armed men and women, but even that number was no match against three Avengers. It was helpful that none of the agents they’d yet encountered seemed able to control the bracelets, and though Steve and Bucky had little energy to spare, they were able to take down a handful of enemies each. Tony did an incredible job covering them, the Iron Man armor taking the brunt of the gunfire until they were able to disarm their opponents. Without their usual stamina, Steve was sure that both he and Bucky would have been shot more than once without Tony’s help. As it was, the small group remained mostly unscathed, and both soldiers had armed themselves with dropped assault rifles. 

It felt like a lifetime, but was in fact probably closer to twenty minutes, when they finally busted through the correct door. The average-sized room held a single bed covered in fuzzy blankets and three pillows, a toilet and sink against one wall, and a pole with a dangling bag of fluids and an IV line swinging from it. Against the back wall stood four familiar figures. Browning, Port, and Simmons all shifted where they stood, expressions of poorly-concealed terror painted across their features. Dalton Fields, on the other hand, looked just as infuriatingly poised as ever. His confidence, no doubt, came from a fifth figure pressed solidly against his chest. 

Steve and Bucky, sickened by it as they were, knew what had become of Peter during his captivity. They had witnessed the weight slipping from his frame until he was no more than a trembling wisp of skin and bones. They had watched his injuries amass, and his healing factor slow to dangerous levels. They had seen his genius, joking nature smothered into silence and glassy, unseeing eyes. They’d had front row seats to the calculated breaking of Peter Parker. Tony had not. 

The trio made it three feet inside the room before Tony froze, the soldiers stopping at his sides. The sound that arose from his throat upon laying eyes on Peter, something between a growl and a sob, was like nothing Steve had heard before. His instinct was to reach for Tony, to offer him a hand of comfort, but he resisted the urge. This was not the time for sudden movement, or maybe any movement, because Peter was limp against the professor. He was conscious, wide eyes blinking toward the doorway in disbelief, but his legs were lax. It was obvious that his upright position was entirely dependent upon the arms wrapped around his chest. One sleeve was rolled up, a thin line of blood trickling down his arm from where the IV had clearly been ripped free only moments before. There was also no ignoring the fast, shallow breathing and awful, pinched expression of agony on Peter’s face. He was so weak. So weak and so hurt. It was hard to look at him. 

It came as no shock when, before a word was spoken, Steve felt his arms and legs turn to putty. He was almost used to the feeling of his body hitting the hard ground, and was more frustrated than anything else when he heard Bucky go down as well. Tony looked at them, briefly, before his eyes were back on Peter. Despite the sound he had made, Tony still appeared collected. Their friendship may have been in a rocky place, but Steve remained impressed by the man’s ability to hold himself together in precarious situations. If anyone could get them out of this now, it was Tony. 

He withdrew the faceplate, staring directly at Fields, before speaking. His voice was as calm as if he had been addressing a subordinate at work. “That’s my intern.” 

Fields actually had the gall to smile. “I think we both know he’s a bit more than that.” He tightened his grip, jostling Peter’s bad arm and causing him to let out the smallest of whines, but to Tony’s credit he didn’t so much as glance at the boy. If anything, his tone became even more casual. 

“Yes, I know, Spider Man is my intern. I realize it’s a tad unconventional, but I can afford the best.” 

“You won’t stall me with idle small talk,” Fields said. “I know you’re waiting on backup, but I would prefer to get this over with before the rest of the Avengers arrive.” 

Tony clapped his hands together. “Good, me too! You hand me Peter, I’ll blow your heads off, and we’ll be on our way.” 

“I’m beginning to see where Peter got his attitude. But you should know, Stark, that your influence did him no favors. Luckily, all that’s behind us now.” 

“Does this mean you’re not on board with plan ‘A’?” 

“I have a different proposition,” Fields said. “You step out of the suit, my men restrain you, and I leave here with Peter, Rogers, and Barnes with no further unpleasantness.” 

“Plan ‘B’ it is!” Tony’s hand was up in an instant, the repulsor firing toward the group of scientists. Port and Simmons managed to throw themselves out of the way, but Browning was not as lucky. The man’s singed body hit the floor at the same time Tony aimed his glowing palm at Fields. In response, the professor ducked further behind Peter, blocking his face with the boy’s head. “Let him go,” Tony demanded. 

“Are you sure he wants to go?” 

Steve watched Tony’s expression waver, almost imperceptibly, at the question. He hoped Fields didn’t notice. It was clear as day that Peter was Tony’s weakness, but so far he’d been doing a decent job covering that up. From the way Peter had talked about him, and the way he begged for his mentor when he was hurting or delirious, it was obvious that Tony wasn’t alone in that. The captain just willed Tony to also understand that Peter wasn’t with it right now. The torture and fear had made him malleable, and because of that there was no telling how he might react. Steve even thought there was a decent possibility that Peter would refuse to leave Fields if given the choice. 

“Of course,” Tony’s answer was confident. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” 

“I don’t have to ask him.” Tony moved his hand again until the repulsor was aligned with where Port was cowering on the floor, hands over his head. “I’m not playing your games.” 

“Killing my men won’t get you what you want.” 

“It can’t hurt.” The repulsor fired again, Port’s final noise a cut-off yelp before he was as lifeless as Browning, his glasses lying broken beside him. 

What happened next was chaos. Simmons, clearly not as willing to bet his own life as Fields, activated all three bracelets. Steve was shocked by the sheer intensity of the fire that swept first through his limbs, and then down into the rest of his body. Fields looked equally taken aback, and he only managed to shout half an order at Simmons before the man was scrambling to his feet and out of the room. Tony probably would have stopped him had he not been so focused on what was happening around him. The pain was too much to endure in silence, and Steve let out gasping, broken screams, hearing Bucky doing the same, while also trying to keep track of what was going on. He looked at Peter, and realized the kid was experiencing the same pain, even though his voice remained too damaged to scream. His mouth was open, hoarse, gurgling whimpers erupting in place of shrieks. His eyes rolled back in his head, his body going stiff and his neck bending back over Field’s shoulder. 

Seeing Peter in pain must have been what eventually drove Tony to action. He aimed the repulsor again at Fields and fired low. The man screeched as a burning hole appeared in his thigh, releasing his hold on Peter in favor of gripping the limb with both hands. He collapsed onto the ground, and though Tony moved forward, he was not quick enough to keep Peter from falling next to him. Tony dropped to one knee beside the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder as Peter rolled onto his side and tucked his limbs close to his body. That was the last Steve saw before closing his eyes, thinking that he might go crazy if the pain didn’t end soon. He was still able to hear Tony’s shout. 

“Make it stop! Now!” 

Field’s next words were choked with pain, but to his credit he remained brave enough to negotiate. “Let me leave, and I’ll make it stop.” 

Steve again heard the whine of a repulsor charging up. “End it, or you die now!” 

“It won’t stop until someone makes it. If I’m dead, they’ll keep suffering.”

Tony cussed violently, but the repulsor went silent. Steve heard shuffling footsteps, and slitted his eyes just enough to see Fields stumbling, one leg dragging, from the room. In another moment the agony stopped, and Steve and Bucky both fell quiet but for the lingering pants. Steve made himself swallow a few times as he caught his breath. He couldn’t believe that Peter had been through that enough times to burn his skin. Once had been more than enough for Steve. He forced himself to focus on the present. He was still paralyzed, but he could at least watch his companions. Tony was kneeling beside Peter, bent over him enough to mostly block the kid from Steve’s line of vision.

Tony had withdrawn the armor from one hand, allowing Peter to feel the skin-on-skin contact as he ran his fingers over the boy’s cheeks. When Tony spoke, his voice was both gentle and somewhat tight with emotion. “Hey, Pete, it’s okay now. I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so damn long, but I’m not going anywhere now. It’s over. I promise.” 

If Steve hadn’t already been on the ground, he might have collapsed from the wave of relief those words brought. Tony had found them, and the team was on their way. The nightmare was over. They had all three survived. He knew the physical and mental injuries would take time to heal, but at the moment that didn’t feel so important. The only problem was that Peter, his whispered words crackly and torn, did not seem to share in that relief. 

“I...I...c...can’t....go.” 

“Of course you can. You won’t even have to stand. I’ve got you.” 

By the sound of it, talking was a huge struggle, but Peter made himself push through. “N...n...not...real.” 

Steve realized what was happening at the same time Bucky spoke, drawing Tony’s deeply concerned gaze. Now that their enemies were gone, his true feelings were on full display. “He’s been having hallucinations,” the soldier said. 

“And they’re usually about you,” Steve added. “He probably thinks that’s what this is.” 

Tony pressed his lips together and gave a very small nod. He clearly took no comfort from the news, but it looked like he understood as he again leaned over Peter. “I don’t know what’s going on in that massive brain right now, but I promise this is real. You feel my fingers on your cheek? That’s all me. You can rest. I’m going to handle this now.” 

Steve was surprised when Peter, again, tried to argue. The kid was often confused lately, but it didn’t usually take much to calm him down. He tried not to think about what Fields might have done to him during their most recent separation. “N...no. N...n...no g...go. No...f...f...fight. B...be good. N...no more.” 

Well that was horrifying. Steve had known that Peter might have been broken enough to resist rescue, but not after his captors were no longer around. Maybe he didn’t realize they were alone. “Those assholes can’t hurt you anymore, Peter,” Bucky said, obviously following the same line of thought. “It’s over. For real this time. No more waiting.” 

As if summoned by those words, they suddenly heard the sound of shouts, explosions, disjointed gunfire, and finally a short stretch of quiet broken only by booted footsteps. Seconds later they were joined by Clint and Rhodey, both covered in dust and flecks of blood. The latter was donning the War Machine armor, and Clint was speaking through the comms before anything else was said. “Rhodes and I found them. Tony too.” 

“About time,” Steve said, attempting to sound annoyed despite the smile he felt pulling up the corners of his lips. 

“Tony, you good?” Rhodey asked. 

“I’m fine. Let Banner know to be ready for us.” He rose, Peter cradled gently against his chest. It looked like the kid was still trying to protest, but his voice was too spent for anything other than rattling pants. 

“Where are you hurt?” Steve dragged his attention from Peter to realize Clint had taken a knee between him and Bucky. 

“I’m not.” That wasn’t the complete truth, but at the moment it was close enough. “Bucky and I are temporarily paralyzed. It will wear off in a few more minutes.” 

“I’m not even going to ask how that works,” Clint said. “But we don’t have a few minutes. SHIELD is right behind us, and they’ll want to level this place as soon as possible.” He reached forward, pulling Steve up and over his shoulder before standing with a grunt. The transition was awkward as the captain flopped uselessly against the archer’s back, his face near enough the quiver that the stiff, feathered fletching from several arrows grated uncomfortably against his cheek. Steve knew that Clint, though not a scrawny man by any means, would never have been able to lift him had he not lost so much weight and muscle. He tried not to dwell on that, and instead be grateful that he didn’t have to wait around for his arms and legs to come back to life. 

“The hallway’s clear?” Tony asked, hesitating in the doorway. 

“The team’s still working on it,” Rhodey said, throwing Bucky’s limp form over his shoulder. 

Tony replaced the armor he’d previously retracted from his face and hands and took a step back. “One of you lead the way, and the other take the rear. I’ll do my best to cover you from the middle, but I’m not going to risk Peter taking a hit.” 

“Good call,” Rhodey said, stepping out first into the hallway. Nothing else was said as the rest of the group followed after, but it was understood from Rhodey’s tone and Clint’s expression that none of them were comfortable with the kid’s current state. 

They moved quickly through the corridors, no one questioning Rhodey’s sense of direction. A few times they passed through an area that had already been cleared, picking their way over the bodies of fallen HYDRA agents and piles of broken cement, plaster, and bullet casings. The team had done a good job clearing them a path, because though they could hear the nearly-constant sound of combat, they never actually encountered a living enemy. The closest they came was when they saw a flash of red hair disappearing down an adjoining hallway. Natasha didn’t pause to greet them as she chased after a small group of fleeing agents. 

Seeing the piles of dead made something occur to Steve, and he could have punched himself for not thinking of it sooner. “We can’t kill them all!” 

“Why the hell not?” Clint panted from the exertion of running with a super soldier slung over his shoulder. 

“The bracelets. We need Fields or Simmons alive to remove them. I don’t know if anyone else can.” 

“Crap!” Bucky cried at the realization. “I wasn’t thinking of that.” 

“Who are we looking for?” Rhodey asked without slowing or tacking on any additional questions. 

“Simmons; black hair, matching moustache, and a crooked nose courtesy of Peter, or Fields; suit, red hair, freaky green eyes, and a new hole in his leg from Stark.” 

Rhodey was relaying the information into the comms the moment Bucky finished talking. They never stopped moving, or even slowed their pace, until they reached a giant hole blown into the side of one of the stone walls. Through it, Steve could see glorious sunlight and smell the first fresh air he had breathed in over a week. He didn’t even care that it was tainted by clouds of smoke and dust. For a while, he had started to believe he would never again see the outside of the base. Adding to the moment was the fact that he could already see the quinjet waiting only yards away. It took mere minutes to cross the distance, and by the time they were running up the ramp, Steve’s hands and feet had begun to tingle with the early signs of the paralysis fading away. 

“What are we looking at?” Bruce Banner was upon them the instant they were on board. Clint hauled Steve onto one of the padded seats, rotating his shoulders once the burden was relieved. The captain had enough feeling back to keep himself upright by gripping the armrests. A second later, Bucky was deposited onto the seat beside his. 

“You tell me!” Tony’s voice was fairly frantic as he laid Peter on the floor of the jet, shedding the suit and sitting behind him so that the kid’s head was resting in his lap. Peter was still conscious, brown eyes huge and scared as his shallow breaths kept his chest heaving at an unnaturally quick pace. His good arm was scrunched up against his torso, and it looked like he was attempting to roll onto his side again. He didn’t quite make it, and stopped trying when Tony’s hands came to rest on either side of his head, holding him steady and massaging gentle circles against his temples. Over the last several days, Steve had learned that the action he was now watching usually helped Peter relax, and he was surprised Tony knew that. The man apparently had a better handle on Peter than the captain had realized. 

“I know you’re upset,” Bruce said, his voice remarkably calm as he crouched down beside the pair. “But remember this is my first time meeting Peter. What should I expect in terms of his enhancements?” 

“His healing is shot,” Bucky broke in, and actually managed to drag himself onto his feet. His legs wobbled visibly, but he made it to Peter’s side before sliding to the ground, sitting just far enough back so that he wouldn’t be in the way. 

Tony glared at him, but for the moment kept his priorities straight. “Shot how? Depending on the injury, it can take Peter a while to heal. Light abrasions and shallow stab wounds usually take a couple hours; deeper ones a day or two. With broken bones it’s anywhere from a day to a week. It’s really about how bad it is and how much sleep he gets.” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at the amount of Tony’s knowledge. “I don’t think his factor is helping at all anymore. It’s been slowing down for a while.” 

Bruce turned his attention to the soldier, one hand at the pulse point on Peter’s throat, the other pressed against the boy’s forehead. “I’m seeing extreme malnourishment, a badly broken hand and wrist, burn marks, and a definite fever. What else is wrong?” 

“A fever?” Tony interrupted in alarm. “Peter doesn’t get sick.” 

Bruce remained composed, but seemed saddened. “He’s burning up, Tony. Anyone can get sick if his immune system is compromised badly enough. Even an enhanced.”

“Shit!” Tony muttered, just above a whisper. “Shit! Shit!” 

“Not helpful,” Bruce said, causing Tony to clench his jaw and nod. The man was starting to lose it, and yet his fingers never once faltered in their comforting journey across Peter’s temples.

“It’s a long list,” Bucky said, sounding hesitant to answer the question he’d been asked before Tony’s outburst. “And I’m not even certain about all of it.” 

“What’s most pressing?” Bruce amended his request. 

Steve thought about the question as well, planning on providing Bruce with as much information on Peter’s condition as he could. At the same time he flexed his fingers and rotated his ankles, anxious to make it back onto his feet. He had no idea how Bucky had managed to move already, but he was determined not to be too far behind him. However, before either of the soldiers was able to give the doctor a rundown of the kid’s injuries, they were interrupted by Thor and Wanda clanging up the ramp. 

“It’s worse than we thought!” Wanda gasped, blinking the lingering red out of her eyes and clutching at a bleeding cut on her side. Fortunately, the wound didn’t look deep. 

“How much worse?” Rhodey demanded. “I thought we had it covered.” 

“They brought backup,” Thor said, using Mjolnir to gesture outside the jet. Everyone who was able looked to where the hammer was pointing, only to see a series of planes and helicopters coming to hover above the smoking base. 

“Damnit,” Rhodey cussed. “Where the hell is SHIELD? I thought they were right behind us.” 

“They’re never reliable when we need them to be,” Clint said. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Tony cut in, not having moved an inch from his spot beside Peter. 

“Or the manpower,” Wanda said. 

“I have already called for a retreat.” The new voice startled everyone as Vision morphed through the side of the jet, speaking as casually as if he had been there all along. “It is advisable to leave before we are overrun.” 

“What about Fields and Simmons?” Steve asked at the same time they saw Natasha running, and Sam flying, toward the jet. They were being pursued by a large group of HYDRA agents, dodging a storm of gunfire as they went. Clint hurried to the cockpit, preparing to get them airborne, as Rhodey and Wanda moved to offer their approaching teammates cover.

“We were unfortunately unable to recover the targets you’ve requested, Captain Rogers,” Vision said. 

Steve didn’t know what that meant for Bucky, Peter, and himself as far as the bracelets were concerned, but they would just have to figure something out. SHIELD hadn’t arrived in time for them to take the base, so they were going to be forced to cut their losses. HYDRA’s reinforcements were landing, and the last teammate had barely made it up the ramp before the jet was lifting off. As the door slid closed, cutting short Steve’s view of the base and its agents, he felt a mixture of emotions. On one hand, they had escaped. The fear, depression, and torture was finally over, but that didn’t entirely make up for the fact that some of their captors had gotten away. The captain was certain that he, Bucky, and Peter would never be taken again, he would make sure of that, but he also had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep easy until the bracelets were off and he was certain that Dalton Fields was dead. 

He decided to let those thoughts go. At least for now. There would be a time for a strike. A time to annihilate those who had hurt them so badly. This, however, wasn’t it. He allowed himself to close his eyes for one, two, three deep breaths. The quinjet was moving below him. He was surrounded by friends. They were safe. Right now, that was all he needed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, you guys have made my world a much happier place with your views and comments! You're as kind as ever, and I feel so blessed to have every last one of you interested in my writing. Hopefully this chapter will provide a dose of comfort that Peter has been missing, as I know some of you were (understandably) getting impatient for that. I hope you all experience a week of safety and joy! Sending you all my love and gratitude!

The rattling. The movement. The muffled voices. The fingers in his hair. The hands on his body. The pinch of needles. The rushing in his ears. Bright lights. Dim lights. Sound. Silence. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Additional needles. Less pain. Sleep. Wakefulness. More pain. Everything was different. Everything was confusing. Everything hurt. 

Peter was pretty sure he was no longer with HYDRA. When he’d first seen Mr. Stark, he’d thought he’d been drifting again, but that had only lasted until he remembered how much his body was aching and heard Bucky’s voice. He’d then been afraid to go. Fields would find him if he left. He knew it. He knew his life belonged to HYDRA, and he’d already decided that he wasn’t going to fight it anymore. He wanted things to get better. Fields had promised it would be easier if he gave in. He needed that. He needed his existence to be something other than day after day of agony. He’d tried to say as much to Mr. Stark, the words scraping against his throat as he begged to stay put. It hadn’t worked, and soon enough he’d been forced to fall silent as his mentor picked him up and ran. 

Everything after that was less clear. He’d been carried somewhere new, laid on something hard and cold, and then felt his head shifted somewhere softer and warm. Fingers began stroking against the sides of his head, and it felt so good that he’d sort of zoned out. He didn’t think he’d slept right away, because he had hazy memories of voices, explosions, and sudden movement. It eventually went quiet though, and he’d lost time and all sense of his surroundings. He was aware of some sound, and a few feelings, but nothing was as easy to follow as he would have liked. 

He was startled when he woke up feeling a little more present. He opened his eyes for the first time in...well it must have been at least a while. He looked around, slowly, because his vision was still a little blurred and his head felt like there was an angry Tasmanian devil thrashing around inside it. He was grateful that the room was dim, the only light coming from a small, shaded lamp in the far corner. That helped his head a little, but didn’t do much about how the rest of him was feeling. The pain was everywhere, but he did his best to smother it down in favor of taking in the rest of his surroundings. 

It took him longer than it should have to realize he was lying on an incredibly soft bed. The room he was in was sterile and smelled mildly of disinfectant, though it seemed like someone had tried hard to make sure the scent was dissipated. The walls were tiled and white, as were the floor and ceiling, and Peter might have thought he was still at HYDRA if it hadn’t been for the glass door and gushiness of the mattress. Even when they’d taken care of him, Fields and his scientists had never left Peter somewhere so insecure and comfortable. He was maybe halfway through his visual examination of the room, still trying to make sense of it, when a voice spoke quietly beside him. 

“Hey, you back with me, Peter?” 

He moved his head, slowly, until he was facing the other side of his bed, realizing for the first time that he was not alone on the mattress. Bucky was sitting up beside him, above the covers. His back was resting against the headboard, and he had one hand on Peter’s shoulder. The boy hadn’t even felt it there before. The soldier looked cleaner than the last time Peter had seen him, his previously stringy and matted hair washed and pulled back in a short ponytail. He was also dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. Unlike the bland gray uniforms they’d been given during their captivity, the pants were green, and the sweatshirt striped with brown and navy. Despite the shower and new clothes, Bucky looked as exhausted as ever. His face was still pale, gaunt from starvation, and the bags beneath his eyes were as pronounced as always. Even so, he smiled when Peter met his gaze. 

“There you are. I think I see some lucidity in those eyes.” 

“Whmm...mmm?” Peter tried to ask where he was, what had happened, but his mouth felt dry and his throat might as well have been lined with shards of glass. 

“Don’t try to talk,” Bucky said quickly. “We’re at the Avengers Compound. I don’t know what you remember, but Stark and the rest of the team rescued us. We rode the quinjet back here and arrived last night. We were apparently being held somewhere in Oklahoma. We’ve been back less than a day.” Comprehension was slow, but Bucky waited patiently for understanding to appear in the kid’s eyes before continuing. “You’ve been in and out for a few hours now, and I know Stark really wants to see you. He’d already be here if he could stand to share a room with me. He only traded places in the first place because you kept saying my name.” 

Peter didn’t remember that, but apparently it didn’t matter because Bucky was already rising to his feet. He gave Peter’s arm a squeeze, staring him dead in the eyes. “It’s over. We’re safe. I promise.” He sounded so serious that Peter found himself nodding. The motion was tiny, but apparently enough to make Bucky smile. “Just a minute.” He left then, Peter watching him cross the room and disappear out the glass door. It seemed crazy that Bucky was able to just stand up and leave. They’d been locked up for so long that even the act of opening a door seemed immense.

Peter was alone for what couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds before Mr. Stark was flinging open the door and practically running to the bedside. A second figure, who looked only a little familiar, followed after at a much calmer pace. Mr. Stark’s face broke into a massive grin the moment Peter made eye contact, the man’s eyes shiny with unshed tears. Despite his frantic entrance, and his shaking hands, his voice was low and careful when he spoke. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you focused. I know you’re feeling rough right now, but it would be really helpful if you tried not to fade out again. I promise we’re going to get you all fixed up. Gosh, Pete…” His voice cracked, and a single tear escaped down his cheek at the same time he reached for Peter’s hand. The fingers squeezed his gently. “I hate that this happened to you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster, but I’m not leaving you. I’ll never be further than one room away until you’re crawling up the walls again and knocking things over in my lab.” 

Peter listened to the words, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about them. For so long he had wanted nothing more than to see his mentor, to watch Iron Man burst into sight and pull him from HYDRA’s embrace, but now that it had actually happened, a part of him thought it might have been too late. He might have been free of the base, but he hadn’t escaped. HYDRA was still there (heck, Fields was still there), in his head, telling him he needed to obey. He was never going to be safe. Had he learned nothing from the first attempt? Any sense of security was a lie. It wouldn’t last. He dragged his hand free from Mr. Stark’s grip, and then lowered his gaze so as not to hold the expression of hurt on his mentor’s face. The man was right to be sorry. He should have come sooner. Maybe then Peter would have been able to feel some relief. 

“It’s okay if you’re mad,” Mr. Stark said after several breaths of silence. “I let you down. You trusted me not to let anything horrific happen to you, and then this. I never wanted you mixed up with HYDRA. I have no idea how they figured out who you were, but I hope you’ll still be able to believe me when I say they’ll never touch you again. That’s a promise.” 

“Tony.” The voice of the other figure in the room caused Peter to look up again. He definitely recognized the man, though in his current state Peter still couldn’t figure out exactly why. “Let’s make sure he understands what’s going on before you travel any further down your guilt trip.” 

Mr. Stark let out a long sigh. “Right. You’re right. Peter, this is doctor Bruce Banner. You might have heard of him, given the ridiculously complex essays you’re so fond of reading.” 

That’s why the man looked so familiar! Peter had spent countless hours pouring over the written documentation of the doctor’s works. Bruce Banner was a genius, and practically one of Peter’s idols. He should have recognized him instantly. That was just further proof of how screwed up his mind was. 

“Hi, Peter.” The doctor offered him a warm smile as they made eye contact. “If you understand my published works, then, first of all, you’re the smartest teenager I’ve ever met. Beyond that, though, you probably know none of my degrees are in the medical field. Tony, along with the rest of the team, just likes to treat me as if I studied at a hospital.” 

“Don’t let him fool you,” Mr. Stark said. “He knows more than most surgeons.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Banner said. “But I do know enough medicine to have gotten various teammates out of some of their more urgent situations. Seeing as you can’t go to a regular hospital without exposing your alter ego, I’ve been doing what I can while we wait for our usual medical professional to arrive. That’s probably more than you needed to know, but I wanted you to understand why I’m here. Are you following this okay? I don’t want you to talk, so just blink twice for yes.” 

Focusing remained difficult, but Peter had gotten the gist of what the doctor was saying. He blinked twice. If he’d been stronger, he knew he would have been horrified that this was the state in which he was meeting one of his heroes. Under other circumstances, he would have been talking a mile a minute, stuttering and falling over his words in his excitement about grilling one of the world’s greatest scientific minds. As it was, blinking felt like an accomplishment. 

“That’s great,” Banner said. There was something about him; a collected, warm demeanor that was putting Peter at ease, or at least as at ease as he could be. “Would you like to hear my evaluation of your health, or would you prefer to continue resting for a while first? Two blinks for talk, one for rest.”

Peter swallowed hard before blinking twice. He had so many questions, but Bucky and Dr. Banner had both told him not to talk. Given his last attempt, he wasn’t even sure he could talk. That left him with the option of listening in hopes of finding answers to some of his more pressing quandaries. Where had Bucky gone? What had happened to Steve? Were any of their captors still alive? Why wasn’t May there? The more he thought about it, the longer the list became, but luckily Banner broke through his racing thoughts before they could become too chaotic. 

“You might already remember some of this, but you were rescued from a HYDRA base a little less than a day ago. Since then you’ve been in and out of consciousness, but you haven’t really been present up until now.” Peter gave a small nod, willing him to get on with it. Bucky had already told him all of this. “Now, I don’t want to alarm you with a long, scary list of injuries, but you’re badly run down. You have several issues with bones that have healed incorrectly, but since they’re not causing any additional harm at the moment, I’m going to wait until you’re stronger to work on fixing those problems. What I’m most concerned about now is your dehydration and malnourishment, as well as the fact that you’re running a high fever. I’m also not comfortable with the stress your vocal chords have suffered, which is why I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to talk for a while. You with me so far?” 

Peter was somewhat certain he’d missed parts of the speech, but he nodded anyway. The doctor had said he didn’t want to alarm him, but it’s not as if Peter didn’t already know how damaged his body was. He still hurt. Ignoring the pain was becoming increasingly difficult the longer he was awake. He wanted Bucky back. He’d even take Steve. He just needed someone familiar to hold him close, or even just touch his hand to let him know he didn’t have to do this alone. A small, involuntary whimper made it past his lips, and he let his eyes close as he attempted to ride out the waves of agony. 

“Shh.” The word came softly; not shushing him so much as encouraging him to make it through the hurt. He felt the mattress dip beside him, and was rolling onto his side, tucking his body up against the warm figure next to him without really pausing to consider what he was doing. His face pressed against the soft fabric of a t-shirt that smelled like fresh detergent, coffee, and traces of oil. It was familiar, and so comforting that he started to let himself fall apart. Silent tears of pain, fatigue, and the complete inability to keep holding on by himself rushed down his cheeks and soaked into the shirt he’d buried his face in. In response, he felt a large, calloused, and yet extremely gentle hand come to rest on the back of his head. Fingers moved to stroke his hair, traveling soothingly through the curls, making sure not to tug too hard. 

“I know,” the voice murmured. “I know it’s hell, buddy, but we’re gonna get you through this. We’ve got you on your meds, and in a little while we can try some more, okay? I’m sorry they don’t make it go away, but I’ve got people working on something stronger. Hang in there. I’ve gotcha. You’re so strong, Pete. You’re so strong.” 

Somehow, Mr. Stark’s words just made him cry harder. He remained scared. He still didn’t trust the rescue, but at the moment he was safe. His mentor had been late. Iron Man hadn’t gotten there soon enough to spare him the most intense torture of his life, but he was here now. He was lying beside Peter in what was probably the most comfortable hospital bed ever manufactured. He was holding him close to his body, letting him shiver and sob into his chest. It reminded Peter of how close they were; of how much he’d grown to trust and even love this man. Mr. Stark had helped Peter through countless minor injuries and nightmares in the past, and though they’d never been quite this physically intimate, he realized he wasn’t surprised by it. Mr. Stark had been treating him like a son for months. What Peter had been through had nearly been enough to make him forget all that, but now it was coming back. He was home. May was missing, but a huge part of his family was here right now. It allowed him to break down in a way he hadn’t since HYDRA had snatched him off the street.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Stark continued, doing his best to calm the suffering child in his arms. The words were steady, but Peter didn’t miss the hurt and sadness lacing them. The man was obviously doing his best to keep it together, but Peter knew him well enough to recognize when Mr. Stark was hiding his true feelings. It was undeniable that guilt was eating him alive. Peter knew his mentor felt responsible for him, and he knew he always blamed himself when Peter got hurt. He’d been a mess after the vulture incident, apologizing for weeks over leaving Peter to take on the villain alone, and the injuries he’d sustained in that fight had been nothing compared to this. 

Peter couldn’t squash the fact that he felt somewhat betrayed. He’d had so much faith in Mr. Stark. He’d been so sure that Iron Man would come for him before things got truly terrible. That hadn’t happened, but Peter couldn’t be mad when the body pressed against his felt and smelled so much like home. He didn’t have the strength to question his undying trust that Mr. Stark would do all in his power to protect him. That hadn’t been enough to keep him sheltered before, but maybe it could be now. Peter wanted so desperately to feel safe. 

“Just keep breathing,” the words murmured. “I’m right here. I know...I know…” 

“Tony?” Dr. Banner’s quiet voice cut through the sea of sobs and whimpering noises escaping Peter’s torn up throat. 

“Yeah, Bruce?” 

“I know this is scary, but I think the breakdown is actually a good thing. Remaining defensive was doing nothing to help his body and mind relax and heal. Are you okay?” 

“No.” 

“What can I do?” 

“Get him well. Make the pain go away. I’ll be okay when he is.” 

Dr. Banner sighed. “It’s going to take some time.” 

“I’ve got time.” Peter felt the grip around him tighten slightly. Everything was so sore that even the embrace hurt, but it was worth it to be held. 

“I’m going to give you two some privacy. Have FRIDAY get me if you need anything, and be careful of the IVs in his arm. He really needs the hydration and nutrients.” 

“Got it.” Mr. Stark’s reply was short. 

“He’s due for meds in an hour or so. I’ll be back then.” 

“Thanks, Bruce.” 

If the doctor responded to that, Peter didn’t hear it. He made out the sound of the door opening and closing, and then they were alone. It felt like a long time passed before Peter ran out of tears. By that point the t-shirt against his face was entirely soaked through in places, but Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind. He also never paused in stroking his fingers through Peter’s hair and speaking soft words of encouragement. The boy even thought he felt a few drops of wetness land on the back of his neck, and those tears definitely weren’t his. If Mr. Stark was, indeed, crying, it couldn’t be heard in his voice. 

Somewhere in the midst of his sobbing, Peter had become slightly aware of footsteps moving around the room. He didn’t pay much attention to it, but did notice when there was a slight tugging sensation at the crook of his elbow, followed by a rush of warmth through his veins. It was only a few minutes after that he started to feel a difference in his pain levels. The fire blazing through his muscles and joints cooled to something much more bearable, and the deep ache in his head and bones dulled significantly. Even his throat felt better, and it was only a short time after that he stopped crying. 

“That’s it,” Mr. Stark hummed in his ear. “You’re starting to feel those good meds, huh?” 

“I...mmm...I’mmm…” 

“Hey, settle down there, Speedy Gonzales. You’re on vocal rest, remember? Do you need something?” The hand that wasn’t buried in Peter’s hair moved to grasp his good hand. “Give me a squeeze if there’s something I can get you.” 

Peter’s hand remained still. He didn’t need anything but for Mr. Stark to stay exactly where he was. That, and he still really wanted to talk. He didn’t know how long he was going to feel well enough to try, so he licked his lips and ignored the orders to stay silent. “I...w’nt ‘a...th’nk ‘oo.” 

“Don’t gotta thank me, bud,” Mr. Stark responded immediately, having no trouble understanding the garbled speech. 

“Mm...Barn an’ Cap’n…’gers?” Peter spoke without trying to move, but he felt his mentor stiffen at the words. 

“You want Barnes and Cap? I can have them here in a jiff, but I’m not gonna lie, kid, I’m enjoying spending some time with you. You’ve been badly missed.” 

“‘Oo too.” It was important that Mr. Stark understand how desperately Peter had longed for him during his captivity. He had eventually smothered any hope of actually seeing his mentor again, but the desire had never vanished. 

“Glad to hear it. You’d prefer the soldiers though, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter did want Bucky and Steve. He depended on them. They had become his constant, and he needed to know they were okay. That didn’t mean he wanted Mr. Stark any less. “B...oth.” 

“Cap and Barnes, I’ve got it.” No, he didn’t! Mr. Stark started to rise, and Peter let out a stuttering noise of frustration. The man froze. “What is it, bud? Jeez, Bruce is going to have my head if I let you keep talking.” 

“All. ‘Oo...s’ay.” 

“I say what? Oh! I stay! Of course I’ll stay.” He settled back down beside him in the bed, allowing Peter to somehow snuggle even closer. Before he could ask again, Mr. Stark was already on it. “Fri? Tell Rogers and Barnes that Peter is asking for them.” 

“Right away, Boss,” the AI responded, her voice much quieter than usual. Mr. Stark had thought of everything concerning Peter’s comfort. He knew that was why the room was dimmed and FRIDAY was all but whispering. Most people didn’t understand how touchy his senses could be, and they were always worst when he was hurt. Ever since HYDRA had experimented on his senses specifically, they had been particularly bad. He wondered if Mr. Stark knew about that. 

As Peter continued to lie against his mentor, he gave himself permission to relax. Remaining tense and fearful wouldn’t do him any favors, and the combination of his emotional release paired with the pain medication was making him feel loose and sleepy. Even if his greatest terror happened, and he did, at some point, find himself back with HYDRA and Fields, denying himself the rest and peace of mind his body craved now wouldn’t have any bearing on his later punishment. He might as well make the most of the reprieve while it lasted. He was so drowsy, and so caught up in his thoughts and the pleasant feeling of fingers against his scalp, that he nearly forgot the conversation he and Mr. Stark had mere minutes before. Only the sound of the door opening reminded him. 

“How’s he doing?” 

Steve! Peter hadn’t seen the captain since they’d left the base. He pulled back from his mentor a few inches; just enough to view the rest of the room. The motion had him wincing, but it was worth it to see his visitors. Steve was standing at the foot of the bed, while Bucky hovered just inside the doorway, staring at Peter. He looked a bit uncomfortable, but Peter’s attention was pulled away from him when Steve started speaking again. The captain had lit up upon realizing Peter was awake and tracking. 

“Hey there, Queens. Heard you missed us.” 

“He’s not supposed to talk,” Mr. Stark said before Peter could even consider opening his mouth. “He did ask for you. And Barnes.” He spoke the second name as if it tasted bad. “The meds have kicked in, but they only help to a degree. He needs to sleep.” 

Peter didn’t disagree with that. He was truthfully feeling more tired by the second, his blinks coming slower and slower as he looked back and forth between the soldiers. Like Bucky, Steve was much cleaner and dressed in baggy, comfortable clothing, but aside from that both men still looked so beaten down. Peter believed he even saw Steve swaying slightly where he stood, but was so dizzy and muddled himself that he couldn't be certain.

“Then go ahead and sleep, Pete,” Steve said, moving to sit on the side of the bed Mr. Stark wasn’t already occupying. 

“‘Oo…’oo…” 

“Seriously, kid. You gotta stop talking,” Mr. Stark said. Peter didn’t listen. He had to know, no matter how hard it was to get the words out. 

“‘Oo...sff?” 

He watched Steve wrinkle his brow, concentrating for a few seconds before he was able to make sense of the fractured sentence. “Safe? Yeah, I’m safe. Bucky is too.” 

“Loo...look…’ad.” 

Steve appeared confused, so Mr. Stark translated for him. “He says you look bad. I guess those devilishly handsome features don’t work on everyone, spangles.” The words were teasing, but they had an underlying worry beneath them. There was an awkwardness in the room, a tension that proved just how large the rift between the prior friends had grown since the events in Germany. Mr. Stark didn’t trust Steve, but it was also obvious that he didn’t like seeing him so wounded. Having Bucky in the room certainly couldn’t have been helping matters either, and Peter knew his mentor was only allowing it because it’s what he wanted. Peter’s needs would always come first, even if it killed Mr. Stark to make that happen.

“We’ve all got some healing to do,” Steve addressed Peter, letting the other man’s comment slide. He lifted one hand, then hesitated very briefly before lowering it to the boy’s back. It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten the kid’s tendency to flinch away from him, but right now Peter was tired and comfortable enough for that not to matter, especially when Steve’s fingers began traveling up and down his spine, easing the tension where Peter needed it most. For better or worse, the captain had been given the opportunity to learn exactly what Peter liked when he was in bad need of comfort, and the boy felt himself leaning into the touch. 

Sandwiched between Iron Man and Captain America, Peter should have been content, but something important was missing. “Bu...cky.” His eyes were closing, he was moments from sleep, and the word came out more of a sigh than anything else. Even so, footsteps hurried to the bedside. 

“It’s a miracle,” Bucky said, his voice directly beside Peter. “You’ve finally dropped the whole ‘Mr. Barnes’ thing.” 

That wasn’t true. The first name had just slipped out through his tiredness, but Peter didn’t have the energy to explain that. “St...ay.” 

“You got it.” Peter could feel Bucky sitting down on the bed beside Steve. It was a good thing Mr. Stark hadn’t skimped on the size of the mattress, or they might have been cramped. As it was, Peter was merely cozy and safe. 

“Th’ks.” 

“Save the gratitude,” Mr. Stark said, his voice firmer than before. “I’m getting serious about the no talking thing. Just sleep, Pete.” 

This time, Peter couldn’t have disobeyed if he wanted to.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am continuing to love working on this story, and it's all because you guys are so supportive! I'm so grateful to all of my readers, and the comments continue to blow my mind. There really aren't words to describe my gratitude! Hope you enjoy this one. Can't wait to hear what you think!

More than anything, Steve was annoyed when he learned that the cowardly, good-for-nothing, Dr. Eve Meldon was being held prisoner inside the compound. After Peter had zonked out the previous day, the silence had become incredibly uncomfortable. Tony had gone silent, resting his chin on top of the kid’s head and deliberately closing his eyes so as not to have to look at Bucky or Steve. The captain understood. Being kidnapped by HYDRA hadn’t erased the events of the past so much as put them on the back burner. Tony was being civil, probably because of Peter, but it was clear his good graces wouldn’t be extending beyond that.

After a while, leaning back against the headboard, Steve had fallen asleep sitting up. Exhaustion clung to every inch of his body, far beyond anything he had felt before. It had been so long since he’d been able to let his guard down that it was all he could do to open his eyes again when he heard voices talking nearby. It was Bruce and Tony, muttering in low tones about Peter’s future care. From what he gathered, Bruce was worried about Peter’s fever and the bullet that had healed into his shoulder. The doctor seemed to think there was a good chance that’s where infection had set in, and was discussing when and if Peter could undergo surgery to correct the problem. 

Though he wanted to know everything he could about Peter’s recovery, the look Tony gave him when he started to ask a question (an obvious, “This is my kid so back the fuck off!”) was enough to have him excusing himself from the room. Bucky was sleeping, sitting in an awkward slumped position with his chin resting against his chest. Steve didn’t bother to wake him as he left Tony and Bruce (at least the doctor shot him an apologetic glace) to their discussion. He promised himself he would keep track of Peter’s condition, but pressing Tony right then hadn’t felt like a smart idea. 

He glanced at a clock as he made it out into the hallway, realizing it was after nine in the evening. He’d been asleep for hours, which might have been why his neck felt so stiff. He rubbed the soreness with one hand, making his way to the elevator and attempting to ignore the hunger twisting at his stomach until he remembered he could eat. It seemed a ridiculous thing to forget, but he’d become so used to the gnawing in his gut, eating only when his captors deemed it convenient to offer him a handful of calories, that simply walking to get a snack wasn’t his first thought. He shook his head as the elevator doors closed, pushing the button for the kitchen. It was seeming like it might take a while for him to get his head on straight after all they’d been through. 

He was sitting at the counter, eating sliced turkey and blueberries directly out of their packages, when he was joined by Natasha. Her footsteps were so light that he didn’t even hear her right away, but she gave a small cough, politely alerting him to her presence before entering the room. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here. Mind if I sit?” She gestured to the stool beside him. 

“Please do.” 

She walked to the row of cabinets, choosing a mug and pouring herself some coffee from the pot on the counter before taking the stool. Steve raised an eyebrow at her. “Coffee at this time?” 

She shrugged. “We’ve all been keeping odd hours since you guys disappeared.” 

Oh. Of course. Steve knew full well that “odd hours” was code for “not sleeping at all.” It was probable that no one on the team had gotten a full night’s rest since the search had begun. Thinking of that, Steve realized he wasn’t entirely sure how long they’d been gone. He stared at his blueberries while he asked the question. “How long were we there?” 

“Month and a half, give or take a few days.” 

He nodded. It had actually felt a lot longer than that. “So that would make it…” 

“Mid November.” 

“Right.” 

They were silent for a minute, Steve picking at his snack, Natasha blowing at the steam rising from her coffee. He was aware that she was keeping an eye on him. Despite what she’d said, it was likely she only came to the kitchen in the first place because she knew he was there. They’d talked a few times since Germany and Siberia, on the phone, but it had been a while since they’d seen each other in person. Even so, it wasn’t uncomfortable now. Natasha had always been a good friend. 

“You let Bruce check you out yet?” she finally asked. 

He gave her a small smile. Of course she knew he’d refused medical care upon their arrival. Bucky had too. They’d both showered, changed, and eaten enough food to satisfy a pride of lions, but had refused all attempts at a physical examination. They wanted Peter taken care of first, not to mention that being poked and prodded after all of HYDRA’s experiments hardly seemed appealing. “You know I haven’t.” 

“Hmm.” How did she make a hum sound so disapproving? 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Okay, maybe I’m not. Poor choice of words. But I will be.” 

“Hey,” she gripped his wrist, staring him straight in the eyes with all the sincerity in the world. “I’m not here to grill you about taking care of yourself. I’m just here.” She glanced down, looking at the metal bracelet she had unintentionally grasped. 

“Yeah, that.” He pulled his arm away, glaring at the band. “HYDRA’s parting gift.” 

“I’ve heard some chatter. Actually, it’s been a bit more than chatter. We’re working on a solution.” 

He snorted. “It’s vibranium.” 

“I know that, but Tony picked up one of HYDRA’s scientists trying to hide in the woods near the Tennessee base. It looks like she might be able to help.” 

His hand tightened around the container of blueberries, crunching the plastic with a cracking sound. “Meldon can’t help.” 

“You just made juice.” Natasha snatched some napkins from the dispenser beside her, tossing them at Steve. “And you know the woman? She’s been more cooperative than expected. I haven’t even had to threaten too many unpleasant options.” 

“She’s only interested in self preservation. When we got out the first time, she acted like she was going to help us. I even thought she might have been telling the truth, but the second she had the chance she abandoned us in the woods. If she’s helping you, it’s because she’s scared. She already betrayed HYDRA, so she doesn’t have many options left.”

“Well I didn’t think she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Even so, she told us about the chip implanted in her brain. Did you know about that?" 

“Yes, but did she tell you it only worked on the old bracelets? These are new and improved.” He held up his wrist as if he was showing off a new Rolex. 

“She told us that, but Bruce and Tony think they might be able to hack into the bracelets if they get their hands on that chip. Bruce doesn’t trust himself to do brain surgery, imagine that, but has sent out a call to Dr. Stephen Strange. Apparently the guy is a top neurosurgeon, as well as some kind of wizard.” 

“Did you just say wizard?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t come up with this stuff, I just report it, but Bruce is waiting on a response. The other option is Helen Cho, but she’s caught up in some work in Venezuela. Tony already offered her his entire fortune to come take a look at Spider Man, but she says she can’t leave for at least a couple more days, maybe longer.” 

“So we just have to wait?” 

“If we want...Meldon, was it? If we want Meldon to live. Tony wasn’t so worried about that, but Bruce insists it wouldn’t be ethical for a non-surgeon to cut into someone’s brain. Can you believe that?” 

He knew she was joking, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to chuckle. He didn’t like knowing they’d be stuck with the bracelets for at least a few more days. There was no way of telling what the range on the things was, and feared that Fields or Simmons could use that against them at any point. He told himself that they probably would have been shocked by now if their captors were able to do that from wherever they were hiding, but not knowing for sure was definitely unsettling. He had experienced first hand how debilitating the shocks could be, and was most worried about Peter being hurt again. From the looks of things, the kid probably wouldn't be capable of handling that.

Suddenly desperate to push the thoughts away, Steve rose, picking the pieces of plastic, used napkins, and squashed blueberries off the counter before walking to the trashcan. He could feel Natasha’s eyes on the back of his head, and prolonged having to look at her by dumping the mess into the garbage and then walking to the sink. He rinsed the purple juice off his hands, realizing they were shaking beneath the spray. Either he hadn’t eaten enough, or the topic of the bracelets had freaked him out more than he wanted it to. Not being able to remove the thing made him feel like he was still shackled to HYDRA, and worse than that was the knowledge that Bucky and the kid were equally imprisoned. He was already aware that they would all require a good shrink (and maybe verification of Fields’ and Simmons’ deaths) before everything was said and done, but the lingering physical reminder of captivity wasn’t making things any easier in the meantime. 

“Are your fingers that stained, or do you just like running up Tony’s water bill? No judgement from me. I’ve been known to take my longest showers when I’m staying at the compound.” 

“Sorry.” He turned the water off and reached for a hand towel. Natasha’s words were light, but they both knew she had been deliberately pulling him out of the darkness. He was grateful. 

“Why don’t you eat some more?” she suggested, watching him pick up the still half-full package of turkey. 

He shook his head, returning the meat to the fridge and grabbing a green bottle of Gatorade off the shelf. “Appetite’s not what it was. I can’t seem to get enough to drink, though.” 

“Yeah,” she sipped at her coffee, watching him down the bottle in three gulps. “Dangerous levels of dehydration will do that.” 

“I thought you weren’t going to chide me.” 

“I couldn’t help myself.” She got serious, staring at him with that look he could never help but hold. “You look lousy, Steve.”

“Have you seen Peter?” 

“The spider kid? We haven’t been officially introduced, but I’ve been in and out of his room a few times to talk to Bruce and Tony. He looks pretty broken down.” She hesitated before adding. “And young.” 

“He’s both.” Steve dragged a hand down his face, frustrated to realize he had moisture welling in his eyes. “I thought we were going to lose him for a while there.” 

Natasha rose silently, and was at his side in seconds, gripping his arm. “You made it out. You all made it out, and whatever happened while you were in there wasn’t your fault. Those cocksuckers with HYDRA are to blame.” 

Steve didn’t respond to that. How could he when he was still able to feel Peter’s bones cracking under his own fists? When he could still see the look of terror in the kid’s eyes after he’d slammed him down on the mat for the umpteenth time? When he could hear the frantic panting and yelps of pain while, even injured and concussed, Peter had tried to hold his own in a battle they weren’t allowed to quit? Natasha was right that HYDRA was at fault for much of Peter’s state, but Steve wasn’t blameless. The kid had never fully healed after their fight, and even though it wasn’t every time, Steve felt a dagger of self hatred plunge into his chest whenever Peter shied away from him with that returning look of fear flashing across his eyes.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice pulled him back again. “Don’t do that. Don’t revisit what happened there unless you’re prepared to talk about it and get some help.” 

“I’m not ready to talk.” 

“I figured as much, but dwelling on the things you couldn’t control isn’t going to do you any good. We’ll get the bracelets off, and you guys are going to heal. That includes the kid.” 

“Peter,” he reminded. 

“Right.” She let out a short sigh, a troubled expression cutting through her hard exterior. “Tony was a wreck, you know? He let us know Spidey was missing, and admitted Peter was a rookie, but he only ever said his name once; maybe twice. He told us that Spider Man was his intern, and it became absurdly obvious that there was a close personal relationship there, but now I understand why Tony’s so protective. I just assumed Spider Man was at least in college.” 

“He’s fifteen,” Steve said, hating that truth even though he’d known for a while now. 

“Jeez.” 

“It shocked me too.” 

“Why would Tony allow…?” She broke off, giving her head a shake before changing that train of thought. “I guess that’s why he didn’t hesitate to get the team back together. As soon as he figured out you and Barnes were also missing, Tony knew we were up against something big.” 

“Thanks for coming for us,” Steve mumbled, unsure what else he could say. He knew Natasha was wondering how Tony could justify bringing a teenager into their dangerous world of superhero-ing. He’d had the same question bouncing around the back of his mind since the moment he’d figured out who Peter was, but now wasn’t the time to get into that. Tony was impulsive, but he wasn’t careless. There was probably an explanation. 

“No one gave it a second thought. As soon as we knew you guys were in danger, we came together like the division had never happened. It was kind of incredible, actually.” 

That was one thing to be glad about, but now that they were back Steve wasn’t sure it would last. Desperation could bring even the most bitter of enemies into a temporary truce. The captain had not forgotten some of the poisonous looks Tony had given him since their rescue. He and Bucky were being tolerated, for now, but he didn’t expect that to continue indefinitely. If it wasn’t for Peter, he wasn’t sure it would have gone on even this long. 

“You look overwhelmed,” Natasha said when he remained silent. 

He was. “I’m tired.” 

“Then why don’t you go lie down? I happen to know that your old room is exactly as you left it. Tony talked about redecorating, but he somehow never seemed to get around to it.” 

“Oh yeah?” That surprised him quite a bit, and Natasha gave him a knowing half-smile. 

“I think he always knew you’d be back. He was too stubborn to admit it to himself, but I think that’s what he was hoping for.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“Then don’t believe it. Go rest.” 

“Okay.” His snack was starting to settle, leaving him too tired to argue. “I want to check on Buck and Peter first.” 

“They’re fine, but if it makes you feel better I’ll look in on them for you. Sleep.” She gave him a firm shove toward the elevator, and that look was back; the one with which you couldn’t argue. He went. 

Natasha hadn’t been lying about his room. Everything was the same as the last time he’d been there, down to the dirty tank top and dumbbells lying on the floor. The only difference was that every surface, from the shelves to the bedspread, was covered in a noticeable layer of dust. The compound was always clean. It was evident that no one had stepped foot in the room since he’d left. Tony hadn’t demolished his room, but he had abandoned its upkeep. Steve might have considered the implications of that if he wasn’t about to fall over. He’d napped in the medbay with Peter, but his body had accumulated such a deficit of decent rest that it was going to take a lot more than that for him to feel stronger. 

He took the time to shake the dust out of the comforter before toppling onto the mattress. The events since their rescue felt muddled. Everything had happened so fast. From escaping the facility, to riding the quinjet, to arriving at the compound and making sure Peter was being taken care of, Steve hadn’t yet slowed down enough to deal with how his own body was feeling. He ached. There was a throbbing pain rooted somewhere deep in his muscles, hurting in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The physical hits he’d taken at HYDRA, though scarring in places, were no longer causing him any problems. It was the hunger, stress, hard floors, and lack of rest that had his body protesting. He knew he needed to heal. He was even willing to admit that he’d probably require a physical examination once Dr. Cho arrived. He could worry about that later. He would have to worry about it later, because his eyes had already fallen closed. Seconds after, the debilitating, inescapable tiredness had pulled him deep beneath the cover of slumber. 

___

Peter didn’t try to move. He was lying on his back, staring up at the spotless ceiling, deliberately keeping his gaze averted from where Dr. Banner was pressing around his left shoulder. His hospital gown had been unclasped and lowered to his navel, along with the soft blankets, and Peter couldn’t decide if that was a relief or not. On one hand, he was shivering uncontrollably from the cold eating its way across his skin, but on the other, he was sweating from the stifling heat rising from the inside out. His head was still exploding, and the lights in the room that had been raised from the previous dim glow weren’t helping, but he didn’t want to close his eyes yet.

He’d only awoken in the first place when the machines around him had started beeping, sounding an alarm in what he figured was the middle of the night. Mr. Stark was quick to untangle himself from where he’d fallen asleep holding Peter, shutting off the machines before the noise could become too much for the boy’s sensitive ears. Bucky had jerked awake as well, shooting to his feet and swinging his head in every direction before seeming to remember where he was. He’d frozen then, looking slightly embarrassed and staring down at Peter. Mr. Stark had also looked alarmed, already leaning over him again and stroking his damp bangs away from his forehead. 

Before Peter, or even Bucky, was able to ask what was going on, Dr. Banner had rushed into the room, disheveled and looking like he’d just climbed out of bed. He studied the machines at the bedside before pushing his glasses further up his nose and quietly asking Bucky to leave them. The soldier didn’t seem like he’d wanted to go, but Mr. Stark’s deadly look sealed the deal. It was then Dr. Banner had moved the blankets and gown, watching Peter with a frown. 

“What can I do?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“Give me a minute.” The doctor reached for his shoulder, and the eruption of pain at even the light touch was what had Peter finding the ceiling. That’s where he was now, confused and trying to focus on anything but the hurt. Why couldn’t he have just remained asleep? He hadn’t even been having nightmares for once. 

“Peter?” He ignored it at first, but when the voice came again, louder, he reluctantly dragged his gaze from the ceiling. “Peter?” It was Dr. Banner, watching him while two fingers continued to rest over the bullet in his shoulder. He’d been shot from behind, and the skin had completely healed over it, but Peter had noticed a while ago that he could feel the bullet from the front. The shot hadn’t been a through and through, but it had come close.

“Hi,” the doctor said, giving him a warm smile that looked genuine. Peter still didn’t know how he did that. Even when Mr. Stark, Bucky, and Steve pretended to be calm, at least some of their panic always got through. “I’m just checking you over. I’ll try and keep it from being too uncomfortable.” 

“Wha…?” he tried to ask. 

“Don’t talk,” Banner reminded him. “You’re okay; your fever just spiked a little higher than we would have liked. That’s what the alarm was.” At least that explained the temperature confusion. The doctor drew back, crossing the room and rummaging through the drawers of a metal cabinet before returning to the bed with gloves and syringe. He spoke as he inserted the end into Peter’s IV port. “I’m getting you going on another dose of medication, because I’m going to need you to stay up for a little bit. I’m sorry we don’t have something more powerful and long-lasting, but this will still help.” 

Peter drew in as deep of a breath as he could, which wasn’t very, and focused on the warm feeling rushing into his veins. Dr. Banner discarded the needle before pulling a rolling stool up beside the bed, forcing Mr. Stark to move to the head where he began gently scratching Peter’s scalp again. “You understanding this, buddy?” he asked. Peter managed a small nod. 

“That’s great,” Dr. Banner told him, reaching for his right arm. The man couldn’t have been any more careful as he held the limb, softly running a gloved finger over the sickeningly crushed and twisted wrist and hand. It still ached a lot more than any healed break ever should. He knew his body had mended the bones wrong, but he hadn’t expected it to remain so swollen and painful. There was an especially bad stinging under and around the bracelet. Peter hadn’t studied it properly after the days and days of tortuous shocks, but he knew he’d been bleeding from beneath the band at one point. That’s the area the doctor seemed particularly interested in now. 

“What is it?” Mr. Stark had watched him frown. 

“I don’t like the looks of this burn, and I can’t even get to most of it. We’ve got some puss coming out from under the bracelet.” He rolled the stool back to one of the many carts in the room, snatching up some gauze and a bottle of clear liquid and bringing them back to Peter. 

“What are you doing?” His mentor sounded worried. 

“I’m going to clean this up the best I can. The fever’s from infection, Tony. Whether it’s from the gunshot, burn wound, or both, I won’t be able to do much about it until we can operate. I’d prefer to have Helen perform any actual surgery, but even if I end up having to do it myself, this bracelet has to come off first.” 

His ability to process was still shaky, but that didn’t sound great even to Peter. Before he was able to worry too much, the doctor poured some of the bottled liquid onto the gauze and began dabbing at the burns around the bracelet. If he thought it was stinging before, that was nothing compared to the fire licking at his flesh now. He let out a high-pitched gasp and attempted to yank his arm away, but Mr. Stark’s fingers locked around the area above the broken bones, holding him still before he’d made any progress. Usually, he could have sent both men flying across the room with a single swing, but at the moment his mentor’s grip was more than enough to keep him imobile. 

“Sorry, Peter,” Dr. Banner muttered, working quickly. “Just hang in there. One more minute.”

As promised, the doctor finished cleaning what he could reach of the wound quickly, leaving it uncovered to breathe as he stood to throw away the gloves and soiled gauze. Mr. Stark released his arm at the same time, but Peter no longer wanted to move it. He let the limb rest at his side, on top of the blankets. It was still stinging, but not as much as before, allowing him to become aware again of the rest of his body. He wished he hadn’t. 

“Hey, hey,” Mr. Stark soothed as Peter started breathing faster. The feeling wracking through his bones, muscles, joints, and even skin was quickly becoming intolerable. He was saved. He was in the Avengers compound, and Iron Man himself was at his side. Wasn’t he supposed to be hurting less by now? It didn’t feel fair that he was still dealing with this. 

“Comm’on, bud. You’ve got this. Take it easy.” His mentor kept talking, and he felt a hand beginning to rub circles over his chest. He could tell the hand belonged to Mr. Stark, even though he’d closed his eyes without realizing. His legs had started shifting beneath the covers, his toes and fingers curling as he waited for the torment to let up. He didn’t need it to go away completely. He’d be satisfied if it would just hurt a little less. Anything but what he was currently feeling. 

He was only partially aware of hearing a low hum, and the sensation of the bed beneath his back raising him several inches into a more upright position. Seconds later, he felt something brushing against his lips. “Peter?” Banner’s voice was directly beside him. “Do you think you can swallow some water for us? Your IVs are helping, but you might feel better if you got some fluids down your throat.” In response, he parted his lips to allow the straw through. Finding enough breath to suck the water through the straw was challenging, and swallowing burned, but the cool liquid felt so amazing in his mouth that he kept drinking as fast as he could. He even let out a small whine when the straw was pulled away. Dr. Banner chuckled, the sound kind. “It’s so good you’re able to drink, but let’s take a little break before you have anymore. I don’t want to overdo it too fast.” 

Peter thought he understood what he was talking about. His dehydrated body was desperate for the water, but his stomach wasn’t as certain about it. His head was slamming, his throat was tender, breathing hurt his chest, and even with his eyes closed he was dizzy enough to feel like he was on a ship in the middle of a hurricane. The world was spinning and bobbing, and he suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. He gagged and slapped his good hand over his mouth. In a moment, he felt something plastic touch his chin. 

“It’s okay if you’ve gotta throw up,” Mr. Stark murmured, making Peter realize that the man was holding a bucket in front of him. He would have been humiliated if he still possessed the energy for that sort of thing. “The fever and meds are probably making you feel pretty yucky, but in a few more minutes you should start feeling the good parts again. We’ll get some of that pain knocked out.” 

“Nooowww,” he moaned, unable to hold it back. 

“Really soon,” Dr. Banner encouraged. “Just stick with us. You can do this.” 

He couldn’t. He definitely couldn’t. He would trade bodies with anyone in the world just to make this go away. He gagged a few more times, but when nothing came up the bucket was removed. He started moaning, and his voice must have healed a little because several pathetic little squeals escaped him as well. He sounded like an injured bird, or maybe a piglet, but couldn’t make the noises stop. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point Mr. Stark ended up back in the bed. As he had earlier in the day, Peter instantly tucked himself against the man’s body, shivering and letting his mentor’s t-shirt absorb the pitiful sounds. 

Eventually, as promised, the pain began to abate. It didn’t leave. It never left, but it became manageable. He stopped shifting, lying still and focusing on his breathing as his heart rate slowly evened out. He felt cold washcloths come to rest on his forehead, chest, and the back of his neck, and couldn’t decide whether the feeling was pleasant or not. He was too hot and too cold at the same time. He concluded that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t in charge, and though that had been a terrifying realization at HYDRA, now that he was in the compound it came as a relief. He couldn’t take care of himself, and he didn’t have to. 

“That’s so good, Pete. You’re doing so good.” Mr. Stark’s voice was speaking near his ear. It had been for a while, but Peter hadn’t been listening to much.

“He’s coming down from the worst of it,” Dr. Banner’s voice said, softly. 

“The fever?” Tony asked. 

“I meant the pain.” There was a sigh. “I don’t like the fever, but he’s stable for now. Is he asleep?” 

“I can’t tell.” 

“It’s okay if he does sleep, but keep an eye on his vitals. If his temperature goes up much more we’ll have to find a way to cool him down.” 

Peter could feel his mentor nodding against him. “If you think he’s safe, you can go back to bed. Thanks, Bruce.” 

“I don’t mind staying,” the doctor said. “Or is it that you wanted some time with him?” 

“What’s that look?” 

“There’s no look,” Dr. Banner said. “It’s just...I’ve never seen you like this. Is he…? Tony, is Peter your…?” 

“Yes,” Mr. Stark said. “But not in the way you think.” 

“Sorry.” The doctor suddenly sounded awkward. “It’s not my business either way. I’ll go, but I’m serious about keeping an eye on him.” 

“I’ll keep both eyes on him. Night, Brucey.” 

Peter listened to the doctor leave, wondering what the heck that had all been about. He wasn’t in a state to pick up on the subtleties of their conversation, but he felt like he had missed something that was unsaid. He shuffled a little, pressing his cheek against the warm body beside him, listening to his mentor’s beating heart. It was more relaxing than any soft music or white noise machine. 

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Stark whispered. 

Peter believed that was true in more ways than one.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally posting! Thank you, as always, for your incredible patience and support! I'm sorry this one took me so long. With the holiday rush I simply couldn't find the hours to write, but I'm sincerely hoping things will calm down in the new year. Even though I've been slow at updating, I want you all to know that every single view and comment I receive on my works fills me with such incredible joy. When I started posting last year, I never in my wildest dreams expected the amount of support and kindness you all have given me. I just hope I'm able to convey a fraction of the gratitude and love I feel for every single person who gives my stuff a read. You're changing my life for the better, and I can't wait to continue writing throughout 2021. I hope you all had a marvelous holiday, and that the new year treats you well!

They’d been back at the compound for three days, and Tony had spent much of that time on the phone leaving increasingly desperate voicemails for Helen Cho. The woman was apologetic, but insisted she was at a critical stage in her work and couldn’t be pulled away. Apparently tired of repeating herself, she’d stopped responding to the calls over twenty-four hours prior. On Tony’s orders, Bruce had been nearly as relentless in his attempts at reaching Stephen Strange. The neurosurgeon had finally returned the calls that morning, explaining that he’d been in the middle of some heavy training exercises that required complete isolation from the outside world. He’d claimed to need a few hours to recuperate, but had promised to take a look at Meldon. They were expecting him around sunset, and at least that was progress, because Tony had made it clear he trusted very few surgeons where Peter was concerned. They needed to get moving on a solution. The kid’s health was rapidly approaching a point where they wouldn’t be able to afford to keep waiting. 

Steve and Bucky were currently seated at Peter’s bedside. Tony had only left the room in order to harass Cho again, as well as to quadruple check that everything was in order for Dr. Strange’s arrival. The man had been frenzied from the moment they’d brought Peter home, but it had only gotten worse since the kid underwent his first surgery the previous afternoon. Bruce had made it abundantly clear that Helen was the much better option, but he’d been forced to agree to performing the kid’s shoulder operation when the infection started to get out of control. When he’d awakened the morning of the surgery, Peter had been as delirious as anyone had seen him since HYDRA. His eyes had glossed over, and he’d muttered to a hallucinated version of Tony, unaware that the real person was holding his hand the entire time. His fever had spiked to 106℉, and every attempt at bringing it down, from cool rags, to antibiotics, to ice baths, had failed. Peter’s entire left shoulder was angry and inflamed, and Bruce finally made the call that he had to remove the bullet and clean out the infection. 

Peter had handled the procedure as well as could be expected. Tony’s hired scientists had developed an anesthesia powerful enough to put even Spider Man under, but any more than a light dose had been deemed unsafe. It was estimated that Bruce would have roughly twenty-five minutes before Peter woke up again, and despite the man’s earlier insistence that he was not the most qualified person for the job, his work had been fast and flawless. The doctor had the bullet removed, the wound washed out, and a row of tidy stitches in place in just over twenty minutes. He’d had enough time left over to make some slight adjustments to Peter’s hip. The dislocation had been set back in place after the boy’s fight with Steve, but without proper rest the joint had since slipped several centimeters out of its natural position. Peter’s body had tried to correct the problem on its own, requiring Bruce to employ Steve’s strength in popping the joint home. It would have been an ordeal had Peter been awake, but tacking the realignment onto the end of the surgery had worked perfectly.

It had been almost a full day since Peter’s operation, and he had spent most of that time sliding in and out of consciousness. His fever was better, having dropped down to 102℉, but Bruce had been completely transparent about not expecting that to last. They had treated Peter’s shoulder, but the more pressing (and less easily corrected) problem remained the burn wound under and around the bracelet. From what they could see, the lesion hadn’t healed at all. A steady ooze of yellow and greenish puss had begun seeping from beneath the bracelet, and although Bruce cleaned it four times a day, the wound had begun to smell. It was the stomach-churning stench of sickness and rot. Operating on his shoulder might have bought Peter some time, but the window of waiting on the wrist was still closing quickly. Bruce had admitted, heavily, that if the bracelet didn’t come off soon, Peter’s hand would have to go in order to save his life. It wasn’t an option anyone wanted to face, and none of them had told Peter the situation. He had enough on his plate as it was.

Steve was engrossed (not for the first time) in the troubling thoughts concerning Peter’s condition. He was glaring at the kid’s bracelet when Bucky’s voice drew his attention. Peter was asleep again, so it had been quiet for a few hours at least. “You’re going to get a headache if you furrow your brow any harder.” He already had a headache, but held back that information when he looked up to see Bucky smiling. Those were usually reserved just for Peter, so Steve was grateful for the gesture. He returned the grin, knowing how fake it probably looked. 

“What’s it matter? You were bound to give me one anyway.” 

“That’s probably true.” 

The exchange was short. Bucky had already lost the smile and returned his attention to Peter, but even the brief attempt at joking had raised Steve’s spirits slightly. Peter had become the priority, but that didn’t change how worried the captain had been feeling about Bucky. He hadn’t forgotten how shut down Bucky had become during their final days in captivity, and he couldn’t ignore how thin and sleep-deprived his friend looked now. He knew he wasn’t in a place to judge, that he hadn’t been taking care of himself either, but, hypocrisy aside, the concern remained. 

It didn’t help that they hadn’t truly spoken to one another since their rescue. They were often together, but it was usually with company. Whether they were sitting at Peter’s beside, speaking with the other members of the team, or being grilled by SHIELD, both soldiers always seemed to find a reason to avoid talking about themselves. They had of course told Bruce and Tony everything they knew about what had happened to Peter, and SHIELD, still searching for Fields and the other escaped HYDRA agents, had interviewed them extensively about their captors. Both men were as honest as they could be while still avoiding any mention of the personal horrors they’d experienced. Steve, Bucky, and Peter were the only ones who knew exactly what they’d gone through; how it had felt to be stripped of their humanity and hope. Peter wasn’t in a place to discuss anything, but the soldiers could have if they wanted to. That was probably why the only words they said to one another were simple comments or passing statements that never got any deeper than, “What’s for lunch?”

“How are we doing?” Bruce interrupted the resumed silence, entering the room to check on Peter’s vitals as he had been every couple hours. 

“He’s still asleep,” Bucky said. 

“Am not.” The small, rough voice took them all by surprise. He hadn’t opened his eyes, but the words definitely belonged to Peter. 

“Consider me corrected.” Bucky reached out and gave the kid’s hand a quick squeeze. 

“You should’n give Cap’n ‘gers...headache, Miss’r Barnes.” 

Steve heard a hoarse laugh escape his throat. Peter had been listening to them! Not to mention the kid had just uttered the clearest sentence he’d spoken in ages. He’d even started to open his eyes, squinting for a few seconds even though the room remained under its usual low lighting. When his vision adjusted, the kid fixed his gaze on the three men at his side. He remained as frail, sweaty, and colorless as ever, but at least he was focusing. Lucidity was not a guarantee when it came to Peter, and the moments when he found awareness had become precious.

“What’s this I hear about giving headaches?” Bruce asked, moving to check the IV line at the crook of Peter’s elbow. All the while he kept his voice casual and a warm smile on his face. The man had the best bedside manner Steve had ever witnessed.

“I was just practicing my talent for annoying Steve, but I didn’t realize someone was eavesdropping.” 

“Not…s’dropping.” The words were slurred, but Peter was talking. Heck, he was very nearly joking, and that hadn’t happened since before HYDRA had tracked them to the cabin in Tennessee. That was probably why Bucky attempted to keep it going. 

“You were listening to someone else’s conversation. What would you call that?” 

“Doesn’ count if...if...talk’in front me.” 

Bucky was clearly about to respond when Bruce swept in instead, giving the soldier an apologetic look that clearly said the current conversation wasn’t productive. “I agree with you, Peter. You weren’t eavesdropping. How are you feeling? Do you think you can drink something for me?” 

The change in subject was smooth, but Peter shook his head. “Feel...tired.” 

“I bet,” Bruce said. “You still have a lot of healing to do.” As he spoke, he lowered the sheet down from Peter’s neck, revealing his bare chest and the dressing over his shoulder. The doctor pulled back the wrappings just long enough to check the stitches, giving a satisfied nod before re-covering the wound and replacing the sheet. “Your shoulder looks good, and since your fever has gone down I think you’re fighting off that infection okay. I just need to clean your wrist again, and you can go back to sleep.”

Peter let out a small groan, tucking his hand under the bedsheet in a way that might have been discreet if he wasn’t so weak and uncoordinated. “Don’t.” 

Bruce looked sad, but his determination didn’t waver. “I’ll be quick. Promise. It’ll be over before you know it.” 

“Can I…” Peter paused, swallowing visibly and shifting his legs beneath the covers. He was obviously already getting worn out. “Have...med’cine?” 

The doctor frowned. “Are you hurting that bad?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bruce snatched his tablet from the end of the bed, scrolling through Peter’s electronic chart for a minute before looking back at his patient. “You’re not due for more meds for a couple hours. Are they not helping anymore?” 

“It’s…” Peter paused again, clearly uncomfortable, and Steve started chewing on his thumbnail. He hated being powerless to do anything. They were rescued, and yet he still couldn't help. “It’s fine,” the kid finally sighed, closing his eyes again. He withdrew his hand, extending it toward Bruce in acceptance. 

The doctor wasted no time pulling on a pair of gloves and gathering what he needed to clean the wound. He pulled up a rolling stool, gently gripping the limb, but he hesitated before starting. “Peter, you hearing me?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Listen, I want you to know we don’t expect you to keep dealing with this. Tony’s still got people working on stronger medication. This isn’t going to last, okay?” 

Peter didn’t bother to answer, and Bruce gave him a word of warning before starting on his task. As promised, the doctor worked quickly, but that didn’t stop the kid from whimpering under his breath. It sickened Steve that the sound was so familiar. It should have been impossible to grow used to the noises of a child in pain. Peter had to start getting better soon. It wasn’t fair that everything had to be so hard. At one point Steve would have been able to find the upside. He would have convinced himself and everyone around him that things would improve, but that had been before. Everything was different now, and so he remained silent. 

Bruce and Bucky were useful. Both men worked together to distract and comfort Peter through his suffering while Steve just sat there in idiotic wordlessness. As much as he wanted to help, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and when Peter once again started begging for more pain medicine the captain felt the last of his willpower collapse. He stood and left the room.

Each step that took him further from the kid, from his friend (because after all they’d been through, that’s what he and Peter were), made him loathe himself a little more. He’d abandoned Peter in his time of need. He knew that, despised himself for it, and yet he didn’t stop walking until he was inside the elevator. He slapped the button for the lowest level, huffing impatiently when the elevator failed to move quickly enough for his fraying nerves. When the doors finally opened he stepped out into a cement hallway. He’d never been on this floor before, but realized it barely resembled the rest of the compound. The lighting was as expensive and high tech as anywhere else in the building, and Steve suspected FRIDAY would still respond instantly to any command, but the stone passage was missing the polished look of the rest of the compound. Had it been dark and drafty, Steve might have believed he was back at the HYDRA base, but he wasn’t about to let his mind go there. Instead he started briskly down the hall. 

He’d chosen the bottom level on a hunch, and just hoped he’d recognized what he was looking for when he saw it. The corridor’s ceiling was lined with security cameras every few feet, but he didn’t run into any actual people. He figured that was for the best, considering what he was doing was definitely against protocol. It wasn’t long before he came to a row of doors lining one wall, each one made of solid white metal with a glowing keypad at its side. He felt his heart speed up and swallowed hard. Sure, the doors might have resembled those as HYDRA, but the differences were there. For example, each of these doors was identified by a bulky black number at the top, going in order from 1-20. Everything at HYDRA had been intentionally indistinguishable. 

After a few steadying breaths, the captain moved down the row, stopping in front of door number eleven. He was sure now these were cells, and had only chosen the eleventh door because he remembered Tony once complaining that it was an unlucky number. That sounded just as ridiculous now as it had at the time, but considering he was being forced to guess where Tony would imprison an enemy who had experimented on and tortured a kid, he thought a cursed number might be a good guess. He had just started fiddling with the keypad when he heard footsteps approaching from the direction he had come. The hallway was totally exposed. There was no hiding himself, so he turned to meet whoever it was that was about to catch him. He just hadn’t expected it to be Tony. 

The man stopped, still a ways down the hall, staring at Steve and looking just as surprised as the captain felt. He recovered quickly, his startled expression turning into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing, Rogers? And why do you look like I just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar?” 

Steve had just been busted, and it was by the one person who was least likely to cut him any slack. The only answer that came to mind was a lame, “Hey, Tony.” 

Tony did his signature double eyebrow raise and spoke sarcastically enough to show off his annoyance. “Hey, Steve. Didn’t answer my question, did you?” 

He caved. “I was looking for Meldon.” 

“To what end?” 

“To kill her.” 

He watched Tony freeze at the bluntness of his words before the man’s expression morphed into something completely serious. “I thought you were against that sort of thing.” 

“I’ve killed before.” 

“As a last resort, maybe. Never anyone defenseless.” 

“I’ve decided to make an exception.” 

Tony was staring at him again, as if trying to gauge how much he meant what he was saying. After a minute, he walked to close the space between them, stopping only a foot apart. “Why?” 

Steve held the solid gaze. “You know why.” 

“Strange is coming tonight.” 

“I know.” 

“And you don’t want to wait?” 

“Peter can’t wait.” 

Tony bristled. “Peter can do anything.” 

“Fine, then I don’t want him to wait!” He’d raised his voice. He’d gone looking for Meldon without thinking about it, and he wanted to keep it that way. He’d been useless long enough. It was time to do something about it; ethics be damned. Tony was studying him again. “What?” 

“You’ve changed.” There was no judgement in it. Just a simple statement of fact. 

“And?” he demanded, in no mood for games. It took him a moment to realize Tony wasn’t playing one. When the man next spoke, his words were slow and calm. 

“I wasn’t expecting to find you down here, but that’s because I’m not supposed to be here either. There’s no good reason for me to have a gauntlet on my person, or for me to know that Meldon’s next scheduled meal isn’t for another forty-five minutes. I probably shouldn’t tell you she’s the only one being held down here, or that door number one might be your best bet. And I definitely shouldn’t say I have a thing for dates. Peter’s birthday is August tenth, by the way.” He turned to go, leaving Steve gaping at his back, and spoke once more. “I’ve suddenly remembered a call I have to make. I’m sure I don’t have to say that we need that chip intact. It would be better if nothing happened to that woman’s head.” 

Tony was walking then, back the way he had come. There had been no emotion in his voice or on his face. They weren’t friends, Tony had more or less made that clear, but he apparently trusted him enough to do his dirty work. Steve was surprised Tony thought he had it in him, but maybe it was obvious that something had snapped; that something desperate and feral had been clawing just beneath his skin. His worst impulses were tearing to break loose, and Tony had just invited him to act on them. In fact, he had practically given him his blessing. 

Steve knew that if he waited any longer, kept thinking about it, that he wouldn’t do what he’d come there to accomplish. He was alone. He knew where to go. He walked to stand in front of the first door, staring at it for only a second before quickly punching four digits into the keypad: 0810. A small part of him wished nothing would happen; that he’d misunderstood what Tony had been saying about Peter’s birthday. That way, he’d have an excuse to abandon the whole thing. He could go back to the elevator. He could return to Peter’s room, and...what? Do what? Keep watching the kid suffer as his fever rose back to life-threatening levels? That wasn’t an option. 

The keypad blinked. 

The door slid wide. 

Meldon was sitting on a small cot pressed against one wall, legs tucked up to her chest. She looked thinner, and her glasses were cracked, but she appeared otherwise unharmed. The hand that had been shot was even wrapped in tidy gauze. As he stepped inside, hearing the door slide closed behind him, he met her gaze. She watched him in confusion, but didn’t look afraid. Why would she? He was Captain America. Mr. Ethical. Not even an enemy would expect him to act callously. It wasn’t what it did. It was never what he had done.

___

Peter didn’t remember passing out again, but that also happened frequently enough now that he wasn’t especially surprised to find himself waking up. It was the feeling of being touched that had restored him to consciousness. Long, cold fingers were pressing gently around his throat. He was mostly okay with that, as he was getting used to Dr. Banner examining him every few hours, but quickly changed his mind once he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar figure. The man had swooped hair, a sculpted goatee, and was wearing a burgundy cape with an impressive collar. Being treated by someone he knew (and perhaps more importantly, someone Mr. Stark trusted) was one thing, but being poked at by another stranger was something else entirely. 

He acted on pure panic-stricken instinct, swinging out hard with his left arm even though it sent a pang through his shoulder. He caught the man across the torso, sending him stumbling back with enough force to upend an entire cart of medical supplies. Peter tried to be satisfied with the fact he’d been able to defend himself at all. He tried not to dwell on the knowledge that a hit like that should have sent his opponent through a wall. Instead he started to struggle upright, clenching his teeth when his body refused to cooperate without a fight. For the moment he was allowing adrenaline to outweigh pain, but even so, he made it less than halfway into a seated position before a set of hands had locked around his shoulders. He wasn’t able to resist when he was pushed gently back against the soft mattress, and stopped wanting to when he realized the person hovering over him was his mentor. 

“Calm down, Pete. Settle it down. It’s just me. Just me.” 

Peter watched him with huge eyes, gulping down frantic mouthfuls of air while he waited for the shock to dissipate. He could still see the stranger over Mr. Stark’s shoulder, brushing away a concerned Dr. Banner and straightening his cape. Peter quickly shifted his gaze away when the man looked in his direction. “Miss’r S’ark...Why…? Who…? I don’...I don’...” Damn his useless voice! 

“You’re good,” his mentor reassured him. “I promise. That was my fault. I thought you’d stay out a while longer.” 

That was hardly comforting. Were random people hovering over him every time he slept? He tried again to make his vocal cords function. “Who…?” 

“That was Dr. Strange,” Mr. Stark said. “And I’m not even kidding about the name. He’s a gifted surgeon. I asked him here.” Mr. Stark was obviously trying to keep things light, but if possible his explanation had only confused Peter more. Dr. Banner had already operated on him the previous day, so why would they still need a surgeon? Before he could ask, the new man had approached the bed again. 

“I apologize for having startled you. Stark and Banner requested I take a look at you before engaging in what could be a lengthy operation.” 

A what? What operation? He wanted to shout the questions, but Mr. Stark was talking before he could try. Peter was grateful that the man was able to read him so well. “It’s not for you.” 

“Then who?” It came out a croak. 

“It’s not for anyone you care about,” Mr. Stark said. “And I don’t want you worrying about it. Is it okay if Dr. Strange finishes checking you out? I trust him, and I’ll be right here.” He changed the subject so easily that Peter’s sloshy brain struggled to keep up. Despite what his mentor had said, he was still concerned about someone in the compound being injured badly enough to require surgery. It didn’t help that Steve and Bucky were nowhere to be seen. Could it be one of them who needed an operation? Had they been hurt worse than he’d realized? 

“Where…?” 

“A nod or headshake will work, bud,” Mr. Stark interrupted him immediately. “You’re still supposed to be taking care of that voice. I know that’s hard for a born chatterbox like you.” He gave him a grin that Peter made no effort to return. A head motion wasn’t going to answer his question. He’d just have to keep it brief. 

“Barnes. ‘Gers.” 

“Oh,” Mr. Stark said. “I should have known that’s what you wanted. Steve is in his room, and I made Barnes go get himself something to eat. They’re both fine.” That was the news Peter had needed. He realized that, rather than being concerned for Bucky’s hunger, it was more likely Mr. Stark had just wanted an excuse to throw him out of the room. Peter could live with that as long as both soldiers were safe. 

“Peter?” Dr. Strange’s deep voice drew his attention. “Do I have your permission to examine you? I think I may be of some help.” 

His instinct was to refuse. He didn’t want to be touched. He was foggy, he was exhausted, he hurt inside and out, and he was homesick. He loved the compound, but it wasn’t Queens. Mr. Stark was as good as family, but he wasn’t May. Where the hell was his aunt? He had yet to be together enough to ask, but it didn’t stop him wondering. He just wanted what was peaceful and familiar, but maybe he couldn’t have that yet. Maybe he had to endure a few more discomforts so he could heal. He closed his eyes, gripped his mentor’s hand, and nodded. At least they’d waited for his consent this time, and that was far more than his captors had ever offered. He may have been a long while from being whole, but he was beginning to hope he was on his way.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, you wonderful people! You're kind, and amazing, and inspiring! Loving and appreciating you as always! Thanks for reading! :)

It was the middle of the freaking night, but Steve didn’t see why that should matter. It wasn’t like he slept anymore. At least not longer than a few stolen hours here and there. Closing his eyes was the same as welcoming the nightmares into his head. Sleep was an excuse to wake up in a sweaty panic, lashing out and breaking things until he remembered he was in the compound. For the sake of his sanity (as well as for the safety of the remaining unbroken lamp and dresser in his bedroom), Steve didn’t want to risk lying down. He’d taken to pacing instead. He’d been treading the same path across his room for so long that he was surprised he hadn’t created a trench in the floorboards. 

He hadn’t left his room for hours. Not since he’d all but run out of the compound’s basement level that afternoon. He knew he was hiding, but he couldn’t decide if his shame came from the fact that he’d planned on making a murderer of himself, or the awareness that he hadn’t done it. 

He had intended to kill Meldon. There wasn’t a single part of him that believed the woman deserved to live. He’d entered her cell, the door had closed behind him, and he’d been prepared to do it. He’d stared at her and flexed his fingers while envisioning the scene. All he’d needed to do was cross the three feet that separated them, wrap his hands around her throat, and snap the bones in her neck. It wouldn’t have even taken that much pressure. She probably wouldn’t have been able to register any pain before it was over, and then he could have laid her body down gently enough to not risk hurting the chip. It was a good plan. A simple plan. There was no reason why he should have failed, other than the realization that planning an assassination and committing one turned out to be very different things. 

He should have asked Natasha. She was hardened to that kind of thing. She knew how to end a life that didn’t deserve to be taking up space on a shared planet. As it turned out, that wasn’t an ability Steve possessed. He could kill in battle, when he had to, but apparently murdering in cold blood wasn’t within his skillset. He’d ended up starting at Meldon, picturing what he wanted to do for several long minutes. He’d stood frozen long enough to make her uncomfortable. She’d shifted on the cot, asked him questions, and eventually begun to look a little fearful. Through it all, Steve had said nothing. He’d told himself to move, to just step forward and do what needed to be done, but he ultimately hadn’t been able to. He wanted her dead, but he couldn’t be the one to do it. The moment he’d realized that, he’d fled back to his room and been there ever since. He didn’t even want to consider what Tony must have thought of him at this point.   


The only thing that gave him any reprieve from the whirling, guilt-ridden thoughts was that Stephen Strange had arrived a few hours prior. Steve hadn’t actually left his room to check on the proceedings, but had asked FRIDAY to keep him updated. Thanks to the AI, he knew the doctor had taken Meldon under the knife several hours prior. He hadn’t expected the operation to go quickly; it didn’t require a medical degree to know cutting into someone’s brain took some time. He just despised the wait. According to FRIDAY, Peter’s fever had already started rising again. The boy was currently resting peacefully, which was good, but that didn’t change the fact that the clock was ticking. There was no guarantee that Tony and Bruce would be able to use the chip to successfully hack into and remove the bracelets, but the sooner they had their hands on it, the better the chances of saving Peter’s hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Steve startled so hard he bit his tongue before swinging around to glare at Natasha. She was standing just inside the doorway, having made less than no noise entering the room. The captain brought a hand to his mouth. “Ow. Ever heard of knocking?” 

She shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep, though I’m not sure why I thought you might have been.” 

“What do you want?” He was already itching to begin pacing again. The stillness only made him more aware of how anxious and tired he felt. 

“I want to know what’s wrong with you,” she repeated. 

“Thanks to you I have a swollen tongue.” 

“Steve.” She was staring him down. 

“What?” he demanded, the final shavings of his patience and composure falling away. “What do you want me to confess? You know I’m a wreck. HYDRA got to me in a way I swore they never would, and they did it by torturing a kid and leaving me and Bucky to try and piece him back together. Only they knew I wouldn't be able to fix it. I couldn’t fix it then, and I can’t fix it now, so why are you standing there asking me what’s wrong like you haven’t already figured it out? You’re too smart to be acting this dumb!” He’d stepped closer to her as he ranted, until the last few words were practically snarled in her face. Natasha barely even blinked at his anger, and her voice was as even as ever when she next spoke. 

“There it is.” 

“There what is?” 

“The crack you’ve been trying to pretend doesn’t exist.” 

He crossed his arms. She was right, of course, but he was too stubborn and keyed up to want to admit that. “Is there a point to this analysis?” 

“Not if you don’t want there to be. As far as I’m concerned you can yell and hurl insults at me all night. I was just concerned. We’re all concerned, Steve.” 

She was so calm and reasonable that he was having trouble holding onto his indignant energy, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “We all?” 

“The team,” she clarified. “The people you’re avoiding. Your friends.” 

He didn’t want to think about that. “Please leave me alone.” 

“If that’s what you want, but hiding in here and worrying yourself sick, or,” she narrowed her eyes, “sicker, isn’t going to change what happened. And before you choose to stay locked in your tower, you might want to talk to Bruce and Barnes.” 

Bucky? “About what?” 

“I thought I was leaving you alone.” 

“Tasha!” It came out a growl, which only made her smirk. The expression didn’t last. 

“Part of why I came to find you in the first place is because I thought you’d want to know this. Tony’s had Bruce working with a team of his best people to try and come up with a pain medication that will work better for Peter. Bruce is obviously the only one who knows what it’s for.” 

“And?” He already knew that. What did it have to do with Bucky?” 

“Bruce thinks they’ve finally developed something that might work. The only problem is, the drug is untested, and a dosage high enough to do anything for Peter would kill any normal person. Neither Tony nor Bruce wanted to use the kid as a guinea pig, so guess who volunteered?” 

Steve gaped at her, all manner of swear words running through his head. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

“I just did. They weren’t ready to test it until a few minutes ago.” 

“Did Bucky take it yet?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Steve wasn’t waiting around to discuss it further. He shoved past Natasha and rushed toward the elevator. He needed to reach the medbay. He didn’t want to face Peter and Tony after his earlier failure, but this was about Bucky. His best friend was about to engage in something that could be quite dangerous. If they needed a test subject, Steve intended to be that volunteer. As far as he was concerned, there was no other option. He’d watched the people he cared about treated as HYDRA’s lab rats long enough. He wasn’t about to let it happen again now that they were rescued. 

It wasn’t the same. He knew that receiving a carefully crafted pain medication under the watchful eye of Dr. Bruce Banner was completely different than being pumped full of mystery drugs and undergoing countless unwilling experiments. He knew that. It was just his panic response that didn’t seem to understand, and that’s what had him slamming through the doors of the medbay in only a few minutes. 

He was quiet as he passed Peter’s room, glancing through the windows and feeling relieved to find the kid sleeping. Even from his current distance he could see how pale and sweaty Peter looked, but he seemed stable enough. Tony was beside the bed, resting his forehead against the edge of the mattress. It was impossible to tell if he was asleep or not, but Steve didn’t linger to find out. He didn’t want to be seen, and he was on a mission. The medbay wasn’t that large, so it didn’t take him long to find Bucky’s room. It helped that most of the chambers were lined with windows and had glass doors. He let himself in without knocking. 

“Steve?” Bucky looked startled, and a little guilty, to see him. He was lying back in a partially-reclined medical chair. The surface was black and cushioned; comfortable, but not as restricting as a bed. He had one arm, sleeve pulled up, resting against the armrest. There was a white sheet draped beneath it, and an IV line already inserted at the underside of his elbow. Bruce was next to the chair, his gloved hands hovering over a tray of medical supplies. 

“Did you take it yet?” 

Bucky sighed, rubbing his face with his metal hand. “Who told you?” 

“Natasha. Did you take it?” He wondered if he looked as angry and he sounded.

“The medication is entered slowly through the bloodstream,” Bruce said. “The idea is to deliver a large enough quantity that Peter’s metabolism won’t burn through it so fast, but in order to avoid the risk of overdose, the drugs have to be introduced gradually. So to answer your question, Bucky has begun to take it.” Bruce gestured to the dangling bag of grayish fluid currently being fed into Bucky’s arm. 

“Take it out.” 

Bruce looked surprised. “I don’t understand. You’ve both been riding me for days about when we’d have this ready.” 

“Yes, but I never said anything about testing it out on Bucky.” 

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice drew his attention. “Don’t be upset with Bruce. They were going to have to give it to Peter first if I didn’t volunteer.” 

“I’m not mad at Bruce,” he clarified, glaring at the soldier. “Now get that thing out of your arm.” 

“But didn’t you hear what I just…” 

“There’s another option,” he cut him off. “And you obviously know that, or you wouldn’t have kept me in the dark about this.” 

Bucky tightened his jaw, going from calm to defensive in under a second. “Then you should know there’s no chance of me trading places with you. That was the plan, right?” 

Steve seethed. “You have no business putting yourself in this position!” 

“And you do?” 

“Stop it.” Bruce’s firm command interrupted the argument before it could become any more heated. “Steve, I’m sorry you feel this was done behind your back. The medication was ready, and Bucky was there. As far as I knew you were out for the night, and since we’ve already begun, it wouldn’t make sense to switch subjects now. You have two options; sit by quietly, or leave the room. I need to monitor his reactions to the drug, and I don’t need to see a spike in heart rhythm or blood pressure and not know if it’s caused by the drug, or by your bad temper. You can be mad later, but right now this has to be about Peter. You of all people should understand that.” 

Had he really just been berated by Bruce Banner? Furthermore, had the Incredible Hulk just accused him of having a bad temper? That felt more than a tad hypocritical, and Steve probably would have commented on that if Bruce hadn’t been annoyingly correct in his assessment. He knew he’d say or do something he regretted if he stayed in the room, so he decided upon option two. Bucky’s voice reached him once he’d made it back to the door. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” It sounded genuine, but he didn’t turn around. 

“Not sorry enough.” The door closed behind him before Bucky could respond.

Not really knowing what to do with himself, and still filled with an abundance of frustrated adrenaline, Steve continued back the way he had come. He was contemplating returning to his room and wearing out the floorboards some more; either that or figuring out where Strange was performing the surgery and waiting outside the door. He was weighing both exciting options when he passed Peter’s room again. He couldn’t fight the impulse to check in through the windows, but instantly wished he had when he found Tony sitting up this time. He intended to hurry past, but the man saw him before he could make it. Tony’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the captain, and then he was gesturing for him to enter the room. Steve only considered ignoring him for a moment before letting out a sigh and opening the door. 

Peter was still sleeping, and Tony silently invited Steve to take the empty chair beside his own. He complied, and was about to say something when he was abruptly silenced by the flapping of Tony’s hand. Before he could do more than raise a questioning eyebrow, the other man had already typed out a message on his phone. He held it up for Steve to read. 

_ Kid’s asleep, but he hears everything. A pin dropping can wake him.  _

Steve nodded, taking the phone and beginning to reply. He never had gotten used to the devices and their stupid tiny keyboards. He’d barely plunked out one word, squinting and jabbing at each key with his pointer finger, when Tony snatched the phone back out of his hand. He shot him the world’s most exaggerated eye roll before standing and walking to a stack of metal drawers against one wall. He produced a pen and notebook before returning to his seat and handing both to Steve. The captain immediately began to scribble. 

_ How is he?  _

Tony responded on his phone.  _ Fever’s bad again. That bracelet has to go, but we’re stuck waiting on a complicated surgery now.  _

Steve winced at that.  _ I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.  _

_ Don’t know why I believed you might.  _

That stung.  _ It could be better this way. Maybe Meldon can help us figure out the chip.  _

_ Is that why you let her live?  _

_ No. Sorry.  _

_ Didn’t think so.  _

After the last message, Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair and dropping the phone into his lap. He looked so tired. He had deep bags beneath his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was an unkempt mess. Steve decided there was no chance Tony had been sleeping when he passed the room before. He looked like his head hadn’t seen a pillow (or comb) in at least a month. Steve started writing again. 

_ Do you want me to go?  _

He was surprised when Tony read the message and shook his head, but his former friend offered no further explanation for wanting his company. Instead they just sat, falling into a silence that was almost comfortable as they both kept eyes on the kid in the bed. 

He was still nervous, and still angry with himself and Bucky, but Steve couldn’t deny it felt good to be sitting down. His body was sore with fatigue, and he’d truthfully been ignoring all his basic needs for most of the day. Everything was still a disaster. There was no predicting how Bucky would react to the super-strength medication. There was no guarantee that Strange’s surgery would be successful, and even if it was, they didn’t know for sure that the chip would help them find a way to remove the bracelets. It was possible Peter could still lose his hand, and even worse than that was the chance HYDRA still possessed some control over the metal bands. There were still so many unknowns; each more terrifying than the last. Suddenly, though, Steve didn’t want to think about that. If surviving captivity had taught him anything, it was not to dwell on the negative “what ifs.” Those were the kind of thoughts that could drive a person insane. 

Instead he tried (not very effectively, but he was making an effort) to focus on the present. He was in the compound. Peter, Bucky, and the rest of the team was here with him. He was sharing a space with Tony, and for the moment he wasn’t even being glared at. There were positives. There were pale glimmers of hope. There was normalcy, somewhere, at the end of all this. He just had to keep it together long enough to get there. 

___

Peter was awake again. Gosh he hated being awake. No matter how often he slept it never seemed to make him feel any less tired. This time Mr. Stark and Steve were by his side when he opened his eyes, and they must have contacted Dr. Banner, because the man joined them in only a couple minutes. He hadn’t stayed long, taking the time to inject Peter with another dose of his pain medication and glancing (frowningly) at his vitals before leaving the room. The doctor looked to be in a rush, but Peter couldn’t fathom why. When he forced his crackly voice to ask what time it was, he learned the hour was just after five in the morning. He would have thought Banner was just in a hurry to get back to bed if he’d looked at all like he’d been sleeping, but that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t find the energy to pry. Not when he had more pressing questions tumbling around inside his hammering skull. 

“Feeling any better yet?” Mr. Stark’s false cheerfulness wasn’t the slightest bit convincing. He’d already been fluttering around the kid, fluffing his pillows, rearranging his blankets, and helping him to take small sips of water, for the better part of twenty minutes. Peter had no complaints. It went unsaid, but he knew his mentor was doing his best to be a distraction while they waited for the fresh dose of meds to kick in. The only surprising part was that it sort of worked. The burning ache had begun to lesson slightly.

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

Mr. Stark gave him a harsh look. It wasn’t mean, but said clearly that he wasn’t messing around. “Is that the truth? I know how you are about this stuff.” 

Peter supposed that was a fair question if Mr. Stark was judging him based on past experience. In trying to prove himself, he hadn’t always been as upfront as he should have about his injuries and discomforts. This time was different. He’d used up all his determined bravery during his captivity. He’d pretended to be strong in front of the super soldiers as long as he was able. Even if he’d wanted to put up a front, he didn’t think he’d be capable at the moment. “S’true. Still hurts...but...bett’r.” 

"Okay.” His mentor must have believed him, because he softened considerably and sank back down into his chair. “Is there anything I can get you? Some more water?” 

He shook his head. The liquid always felt refreshing in his mouth, but swallowing was still hard. “I....I…” He let out a little sound of frustration when the words refused to come, kicking his feet in annoyance. He had questions, but his stupid voice wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. It didn’t help that his throat felt like there was a cactus lodged inside of it. 

“Hey.” His mentor’s hand was immediately on his forehead, his thumb rubbing circles at the spot above his ear. Peter didn’t know how the man always seemed to know what felt good. “None of that. Cool your jets.” At the same time, Steve draped an arm across his shins, holding his legs still so he wouldn’t exhaust himself. 

“My ‘oice…’oice... _ voice _ ...won’...won’...” 

“Shh. It’s okay. It’ll heal, but Bruce says you’ve got some pretty bad vocal strain going on. On top of that, you’re sick, buddy. Your tonsils are all swollen.” The second part was new. Peter brought his working hand to his throat, trying to feel the swelling for himself, but ended up not being able to tell much. “Take my word for it,” Mr. Stark said. Peter dropped his hand. 

He was helpless, and he despised it. He’d somehow gone from cleaning up the streets every night to not even being able to talk properly. He wasn’t Spider Man, and he most certainly wasn’t an Avenger. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure he was regular Peter Parker. Even before the bite he’d never felt so weak. He needed help. He wanted all the comfort he could get, figured he probably deserved that much, and he was done waiting. He just needed to function a little. “Wan’...want M...May. Want...May.” 

“Oh, bud, of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to bring up May until you were strong enough for a conversation.” Peter was struck with sudden panic. What the heck did that mean? Where was May? Mr. Stark must have seen the horror in his expression, because he was talking again before Peter could even begin to form words. “Everything is fine. May is fine. I’ve just…” He broke off, clearly searching for the right words. 

"Who’s May?” Steve muttered, as if that would stop Peter from hearing. “He’s said her name a lot.” 

“His aunt,” Mr. Stark said without shifting his eyes from Peter. “She raised him.” 

“Please,” Peter rasped the word. He needed to know what was going on. 

“Sorry,” his mentor apologized again. “This is a little complicated, so I hope you’re ready to listen. Like I said, May is fine. She called me in a frenzy when you didn’t come home. That’s how I found out you were missing in the first place.” That part wasn’t a surprise. It was exactly what Peter had assumed would happen when he missed his curfew. “At first I wasn’t that worried. I thought something had probably just happened on your patrol that held you up, but May was already freaking out by the time she called. There was talk of getting the police involved, and I didn’t want that to happen before I had a chance to see if it was a spider thing. I needed to buy myself some time, so I lied. I made up some story about you coming to the compound after school and conking out in the lab. I apologized and told her I thought she knew, and that I was sorry about the whole thing. She was upset, but also so relieved that she told me not to wake you.” 

“But…” 

“Hold up, there’s a lot more. It didn’t take me long to figure out you weren’t in the suit, and you still weren’t answering your phone. That’s when I knew something had gone sideways, so I started having FRIDAY hack into every security camera that might have picked you up on your way home from school. There was some grainy footage of you going down on the street, and I pretty much knew HYDRA had to be behind it once the uniformed men pulled you into a van. I won’t go into too many details about how much I lost my mind after that. There was no footage of where they drove you, and that led to days of me reuniting the team and figuring out Steve and Barnes were missing too. During that time, I had to come up with something to do about May. My options were fairly limited. I could spill your secret, tell her I didn’t know where you were and let the police and media get involved, or lie again. Three guesses what I chose.” 

“What...did you t...tell ‘er?” He had just assumed Mr. Stark would have told May about Spider Man, but he was grateful to realize that wasn’t the case. 

“I hate to admit the lies got pretty elaborate at that point. I told her a huge opportunity had come up for SI in South Korea, and that I needed an intern to immediately leave with me for Seoul. I convinced her it would look fantastic on any college application, and that my Korean business partners had specifically requested a demonstration of the technology you’d been helping me work on. I said it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and that any school you had to make up would be worth the experience. I even sent someone to your apartment to pack you a bag.” 

“That...worked?” 

Mr. Stark scratched at his beard. “Not as well as I would have hoped. May was skeptical, and she wanted to at least talk to you before we left. I used some advanced voice-altering technology to make it sound like I was you. I even made it look like I was calling from your phone.” Wait, Mr. Stark had impersonated him? To his aunt?

“Tony.” Even Steve sounded like he couldn’t believe it. 

“I know,” the man said, watching Peter with sad eyes. “Believe me, I know. I felt like a creep lying to a teenager’s guardian, but I didn’t see any better options. The longer it took to find you, the longer I had to keep extending our alleged trip. May was losing patience and eventually wanted to see your face, and I was able to manufacture what looked like a video call with a bad connection. Through gritty footage, I was able to create an image that looked enough like you to be convincing. That’s where I’ve left it, but your aunt definitely isn’t happy with me right now. Did you follow all that okay? You doing all right?” 

Peter just stared at him a moment, struggling to process the story. It didn’t even sound real. May wasn’t stupid, but then again, Mr. Stark had the best technology in the world. If anyone could weave a believable explanation for his disappearance, it was definitely the genius in front of him. He finally settled on one word. “Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark said. “It definitely warrants a wow, but I want to make something perfectly clear. If I made the wrong call, if you want May to know the truth, I can have her here in under an hour. I’m more than willing to come clean. Totally your choice, Pete.”

Peter hesitated before slowly shaking his head. He still wanted his aunt and all the safety and peace she represented, but Mr. Stark had already gone to incredible lengths to conceal Spider Man. He reminded himself of all the reasons he’d hidden his powers from May in the first place. Sure, a lot of it came from enjoying the freedom of not answering to her rules (at least where his crime-fighting was concerned), but a large part was also due to the fact that he didn’t want her worried or in danger. If HYDRA or even SHIELD knew about her there could be problems. He wasn’t willing to lose anyone else he loved over a selfish decision. May’s safety was more important than his comfort. He could wait. Especially since she’d probably skin him and Mr. Stark alive if she learned the truth at this point.

“Just double checking,” Mr. Stark said. “That was a no, correct?” 

“It’s...no. Don’...call.” 

“Got it.” The man’s thumb pressed a little harder against his head, somewhat counteracting the pulsating pain. Mr. Stark had a gift of knowing when his headaches were becoming debilitating. Even on normal days it hadn’t been all that uncommon for Peter to suffer the occasional migraine. “This okay?” he checked in after a minute or so. 

“S’good.” 

“Are you mad about May?” 

His eyes had found the ceiling, but at that he shifted them back to his mentor. Mr. Stark looked uncertain; almost guilty. “No. I...I...I...I…” He paused, swallowing hard to break the stutter. “Miss her. Not...not mad.” 

“Fine. Just let me know if you change your mind. She’s only a phone call away.” Peter was tired of trying to talk, so he chose to remain quiet. The reminder that May was an option, that he actually had a choice, was a relief. He could continue trying to power through this with the help of his mentor and friends, but if it ever became too much his aunt would come. Just knowing that made him feel safer. 

He ended up closing his eyes. Steve and Mr. Stark fell silent, but Peter didn’t think he dozed off again. Instead he laid still, listening to the beating hearts and breathing of his companions. Mr. Stark’s thumb hadn’t stopped its soothing journey, and he tried to focus on that. There was no way of guessing the passage of time, but it was long enough for the meds to start wearing off. They always stopped working before it was safe to take another dose, and it sucked. 

“Peter?” Steve broke the long silence once Peter, unable to take it anymore, released a shaking breath and gripped a scrunched fistful of blanket. 

“Owww.” He breathed it out in just over a whisper. He heard a soft beeping from somewhere, but then Mr. Stark shifted and it stopped. 

“Sorry,” his mentor said. “I’m so sorry it always hurts. You’re not alone in this. I’m right here. Cap’s right here.” 

Wanting to be smaller, as if that would somehow help, Peter used all his energy to roll onto his side. He tucked his limbs as close to his core as he could manage, and he didn’t have the strength to do more than groan in protest when someone pulled his blanket away. He hadn’t remembered the room being so cold, but now he was shivering. His teeth were rattling together. 

“Get back.” He recognized the deep voice, but couldn’t figure out why. Seconds later, he felt large hands between his shoulders and on the back of his neck, but they didn’t linger. “Is he up to date on the antibiotic I suggested?” 

“He’s caught up on everything,” Mr. Stark said. “Banner hasn’t missed a dose.” 

“I was hoping I could blame negligence,” the deep voice muttered. Peter heard the sound of hurried footsteps followed by the clanging of metal drawers, and a moment later he was letting a shocked hiss out between his teeth. What felt like gel ice packs had just been pressed simultaneously against his back and forehead. He wanted to knock them off, but felt a cool rush through his IV before he could try. 

“What did you do?” 

“Upped his fluids.” 

“Why are you here? Where’s Bruce?” Mr. Stark sounded both fearful and like he was losing his patience. 

“I was with Dr. Banner when he was alerted to Peter’s distress. The operation went well, and the patient is sleeping, but stable. I was able to keep the chip intact upon removal, and since Banner wanted to look at it right away, I volunteered to check on Peter.” 

“The surgery’s done?” Steve demanded. 

“That’s what I said,” the man, who Peter was just beginning to recall was named Dr. Strange, said. 

“I’ve gotta go.” Steve sounded frantic, and soon his footsteps thudded from the room. 

Peter remained at a loss as to why someone in the compound had needed an operation in the first place, and he hadn’t put together what chip Dr. Strange was talking about. There was something floating around in the back of his brain, telling him that if he just thought about it for a minute he’d know what was going on. Unfortunately, he wasn’t capable of thinking too far beyond his physical discomfort. He must have still had a fever. Otherwise he wouldn’t be covered in ice while trembling uncontrollably. Why couldn’t he have one easy day? 

“Pete? Bud?” Mr. Stark’s hand was in his hair. “You’re going to be okay. This is so close to being done. You won’t have to feel this way much longer.” 

He hoped that was true, because continuing to endure this wasn’t something he thought he could do. There needed to be an end in sight. One way or another this had to be over. Soon. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaaaahhhh!!!! I'm the slowest! I have no excuse. This chapter was a pain in the absolute butt to write, so all I could do was inch along at a snail's pace. It's here, though. I finally finished! Thank you for your continued patience. As always, it's you guys that keep me plucking away at the chapters that make me want to pull my hair out. Your words of encouragement and comments on what you think of each chapter build me up like you would not believe! I know I've said that before, but it's no less true now than it was then. Everyone who takes the time to read my story(ies) is truly and deeply appreciated. This particular piece is beginning to wind down, but I'm not so sure this journey will end there. Do I smell a part 2 in the future? A little more to come on this one first!

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tony was cussing rapidly again the moment Bucky let out a strangled scream. The soldier rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the bed’s pillow while Tony and Bruce worked frantically to reverse the shocks. It only took them about a minute, but it was long enough to leave Bucky panting and jolting from the aftereffects. 

A full day had passed since Bruce and Tony had begun tinkering with the chip Strange removed from Meldon’s brain. After making a few complicated alterations the men had eventually learned how to connect the chip to the bracelets. Their understanding of the technology still remained iffy, and they hadn’t yet discovered how to remove the metal bands. They were currently caught in a trial and error situation, fiddling with the chip and moving wires around in hopes that some combination would cause the bracelets to unlock. So far, they’d only succeeded in causing the shackles to release shocks that either caused pain or paralysis. The only good news was that they’d figured out how to connect with one bracelet at a time, preventing Steve, Bucky, and Peter from all three feeling the effects of each failed attempt. After a lot of arguing it was finally decided that Bucky and Steve would take turns acting as test subjects. No one had needed to say that Peter would be left entirely out of the process. Tony and Bruce would only connect his bracelet to the chip once they knew for sure how to remove it.

Steve was currently watching his friend from his own bed. Bruce had wisely suggested both soldiers be lying down when they began trying to remove the bracelets, and the captain had been left temporarily paralyzed by his last turn. So far Steve and Bucky had been shocked six times each, never knowing if the zaps would cause pain or immobility. Bruce and Tony were figuring out what didn’t work, but they weren’t much closer to discovering what would. 

“Sorry,” Bruce apologized, taking Bucky’s arm and helping him turn onto his back. “You good?” 

Bucky gulped down a couple more lungfuls of air before shooting the doctor a thumbs up. “You can put that one in the does-not-work column. I don’t think I’d like to repeat it.” 

“Are you ready to try again?” Tony asked, earning harsh looks from both Bruce and Steve. “What? We’re on a deadline, and Cap can’t even feel his toes yet.” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, clearing his throat when the words came out shaky. “I can go again.” 

“No,” Steve said. “We’re taking turns.”

“Tell you what,” Tony said, the casual attitude failing to conceal his impatience. “If Barnes gets paralyzed then you can go twice in a row. Deal?” 

Steve didn’t answer, realizing he wasn’t going to win this one. If he opened his mouth now he was sure he’d later regret anything that came out. They’d already been doing this for an hour, and Tony had been more or less insufferable the entire time. He was worked up about Peter, and he obviously didn’t give a damn about Bucky’s well-being. He got angry when either of them was shocked, but Steve suspected that had more to do with the bracelets staying on than the pain that was being caused. If Bruce hadn’t needed the man’s help, Steve would have requested Tony be removed from the room by now. He was being awful to Bucky, and the soldier was just taking it because he felt so guilty about the past. Steve knew better than anyone that his friend hadn’t even begun to recover from their recent ordeal, and he hated seeing him bullied on top of everything else. 

At least Bruce remained sympathetic and professional no matter how volatile Tony became. The doctor handed a cup of water to Bucky, cleaning his throat loudly when Tony started to grumble something. “We can wait a minute or two. Finish catching your breath first.” Yeah, thank God for Bruce. 

Unexpectedly, but to Steve’s relief, Bucky actually listened to Bruce’s request. Only once his breaths had evened out did he give the word that he was ready to try again. Tony was back at the chip in an instant, shifting where he stood and muttering under his breath in the handful of seconds it took Bruce to join him. As annoying as he found the behavior, Steve didn’t entirely blame Tony for the reaction. The truth was that Peter was deteriorating, and they all knew it. 

Tony, Bucky, Steve, and Bruce had all hated to leave the boy’s side, but working on the bracelets had become the most important task. It had become obvious that Peter wasn’t going to survive much longer if they didn’t do something about the infection raging beneath his bracelet. Strange was currently with the kid. It was no longer safe for Peter to be left alone. His fever had reached the dangerous temperature of 107.2℉ and was still climbing. Both Bruce and Strange had stressed that brain damage would become a risk at just under the 108℉ mark, but there was a chance that Peter’s enhanced biology would be able to protect him from that. Of course nobody wanted to put it to the test. 

If there was any positive to be found it was that Peter was finally on the stronger pain medication. Bucky had finished testing the drug the previous day, and by all accounts the trial had gone well. The drugs had reportedly made him confused and sleepy, slurring his words, but had also made his entire body go mostly numb. It seemed like the numbness should have been disconcerting, but Bucky had insisted the feeling was incredibly relaxing. He hadn’t been able to process any soreness, and supposedly felt a little bit like he was floating. The only downside was that the drug came with some pretty severe bouts of nausea, but occasionally throwing up was far better than living in pain. Based on Strange’s most recent report, Peter was currently staring at the ceiling with a glazed-over look in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. The fever and drugs had him delirious, but the doctor no longer thought the boy was hurting. Steve had felt his eyes grow misty at that news. No one deserved the break more than Peter, and when he’d looked around at his companions they’d appeared similarly relieved. 

Steve closed his eyes when Tony and Bruce once again began moving the wires attached to the chip. He fully anticipated Bucky being exposed to further pain, and he really didn’t feel like watching that. What he didn’t expect was to hear a small thump, followed by a series of gasps. He immediately looked to his friend’s bed, and heard himself mimic the shocked noises of his companions. Bucky’s wrist was bare, the bracelet open and lying on the mattress beneath the soldier’s arm. Steve was the first to break the shock in the room, letting out a rasping laugh. 

“We did it,” Bruce breathed, his expression of disbelief morphing into a grin. 

Tony said nothing, but his eyes were alight as he began manipulating the wires with frenzied movements. Seconds later, Steve’s bracelet fell from his wrist. He laughed again, and found he’d regained enough control over his limbs to rub the reddened patch of skin where the band had been. Bucky let out a small shout of celebration, sitting up in bed and studying his own wrist. The skin there was burned worse than Steve’s, leaving behind several smeared drops of blood, but judging from the way he was beaming Bucky couldn’t have cared any less.

“Peter’s turn,” Tony all but whispered, adjusting the wires a third time. The moment he had the wires where he wanted them he was out the door, hurrying down the hall toward Peter. Bruce, Bucky, and (a still stumbling) Steve were all directly behind him until the small group practically burst into the room. Strange stared at them, somehow looking confused and relieved at the same time, the third and final shackle hanging from his fingers. They had successfully eliminated the last of their captor’s physical control. 

Steve had no words, but Bucky apparently wasn’t suffering from the same affliction. His voice was victorious when he nearly shouted, “Fuck HYDRA!” 

“Yeah.” The small voice came from the bed. Too weak to sit up, Peter had raised his twisted, broken, infected, but clearly bracelet-less arm into the air. “Fuck HYDRA!” 

___

Getting the bracelets off ended up being a turning point for everyone. To ensure HYDRA would not be able to regain any amount of power over their technology, all three bands had been locked in a reinforced safe. Mr. Stark had said he eventually wanted to study and deactivate them entirely, but he hadn’t yet found the time. That was mostly because he refused to leave Peter’s side. 

Within the same hour of the bracelets being removed, Peter had been put under and rushed to surgery. Between Doctors Banner and Strange his burns had been scrubbed and drained of the more critical infection, and his bones rebroken and straightened again into their proper positions. The men had somehow managed it all before the anesthesia wore off, and for that Peter was unspeakably grateful. Now, with all four fingers and thumb of his right hand splinted, and his wrist wrapped securely in gauze that could be changed regularly, the concern had shifted from saving the hand to the question of function. Both doctors had agreed that any normal person with an injury as severe as Peter’s would have had lifelong issues with dexterity, but given the boy’s enhancements there was no way of knowing if there would be any long-term problems at all. His doctors (including Cho, who had finally shown up, only to check him over and declare Banner and Strange had things under control) had decided that Peter’s recovery would be taken a day at a time. That had been nearly a week ago. 

“What’s this?” Bucky declared, entering Peter’s room and finding him in a half-seated position, resting back against what had to be a dozen pillows. The soldier glanced to the couch on the far side of the room, instantly lowering his voice when he noticed Mr. Stark sleeping there. “You’re still lying around? It’s nearly noon.” 

Peter gave him a loopy smile, setting aside the comic book he’d been reading. Or trying to read. The medicine always made his vision a little blurry; not that he wouldn’t happily take that over the alternative. “Mis’r Rogers tol’ me you slep’ ‘til five in the evenin’ yes’erday.” 

Bucky grinned. “Figures Steve would be the one to rat me out. Phenomenal slurring, by the way. Really, I’m enjoying it.” 

Peter did his best to roll his eyes, but it probably looked more like he was having some sort of episode. Ever since they’d gotten the infection under control his voice had been healing. His temperature was continuing to hover somewhere around the low hundreds, and his words remained a little scratchy, but for the most part he had regained the power of speech. He only slurred now because the pain medication made him incredibly high, and he’d soon learned that Bucky had no problem reminding him of that; much to the soldier’s own amusement. 

“Anyway,” Bucky continued after snorting at the attempted eye roll. “You getting out of that bed or not? I was planning on a light twenty-mile jog, followed by maybe a couple hundred pushups and squats. You in?” 

“Sure,” Peter said. “Go ‘head an’ ge’ started. I’ll meet you af’er I grab my sweat ban’.”

Bucky chuckled, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed. He gripped one of his feet through the covers. “How are you feeling today, kid? How’d you sleep?” 

Peter appreciated the concern, but he liked the jokes decidedly better. Everyone kept asking him about his sleep, insisting he needed the rest to continue healing. He knew they were right, but he still hated the nights. Anything more than a nap meant nightmares. It meant flashbacks that he truly would have preferred not to relive. The drugs helped some, making him sleepy and somewhat calmer than he would have been otherwise, but the bad dreams still came. He knew he wasn’t the only one having nightmares either. Mr. Stark, with a few exceptions, only slept when Peter did. That, however, hadn’t stopped the kid from awakening to the man’s whimpers and moans on several different occasions. His mentor obviously did not rest easily, but Peter hadn’t wanted to embarrass him by bringing it up. 

Then there was Steve and Bucky. Both soldiers spent much, if not the majority, of each day with Peter. They were patient, supportive, and wonderful company, but they both always had dark circles under their eyes. Peter knew that, like him, Steve and Bucky were continuing to deal with the aftermath of HYDRA. They tried hard to hide their struggles from Peter, but he had grown to know them each well enough to see through the act. Once, when Mr. Stark had left to take one of his seven-minute showers, Peter had even asked FRIDAY to let him know when his friends were having nightmares. He’d been caught the same night, and his mentor had disabled the function, but not before the boy’s suspicions had been confirmed. The soldiers were sleeping just as poorly as he was. 

Peter looked at Bucky and shrugged, pleased that he was able to achieve the motion without discomfort. Even without the pain medication his shoulder had healed well enough to, for the most part, stop being a problem. “I feel ‘kay. Still...swimmy.” 

Bucky chuckled again. “Swimmy, huh? And how does that compare to joggy or walky?” 

Peter blinked a few times, confused. “Feel like you’ teasin’ me.” 

“That’s because I am teasing you. It’s so easy when you’re this drugged that it hardly seems fair. Not that I think that’s a good enough reason to stop.”

“Mean,” Peter groaned, not actually minding. The banter made him feel a little more normal. Everyone had been tiptoeing around him for what felt like forever. He took it as a good thing that Bucky seemed to remember the real Peter; or at least the version of himself that had existed before HYDRA broke him. 

“You can take it.” The soldier moved to ruffle his hair, but Peter dodged the hand. 

“No. Jus’ ‘ad this brushed.” As he healed, Peter had begun requesting basic hygiene. Dr. Banner had helped him with (an awkward but immensely appreciated) sponge bath the previous day. The blessedly patient man had even taken the time to wash the boy’s hair, and shortly after Peter had discovered a hairbrush and hand mirror on the bedside table.

Bucky feigned surprise, smacking his own forehead. “That’s why you look so different! I was beginning to think you were born with chronic bedhead.” 

That reminded Peter of May. She’d muttered similar sentiments hundreds of times, chasing him around with a comb and spray bottle in hopes of taming the wild mess. He shook his head, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. Once the pain medication had started working Mr. Stark had asked him if he wanted to call his aunt. The man suggested telling her that Peter had gotten into some kind of accident in Korea, maybe a hit and run on a busy street, but he’d still wanted to wait. He understood that healing completely would take a while, and that he’d eventually have to see May before his injuries were gone, but he wanted to at least be off the super meds before she came. Even without knowing the truth about what had happened, May was certain to all but slaughter both Mr. Stark and Peter once she realized her nephew had been hurt. Peter at least wanted to be coherent enough to come up with a good defense before that happened.

“Hey.” The new voice caught their attention before Peter was able to come up with a good retort to Bucky’s teasing. Steve was hovering in the doorway, looking at Mr. Stark and frowning. 

“Hi,” Peter said. “He’s sleepin’. Stay’d up wit’ me long time las’ nigh’.” 

“Then I’ll keep it down.” Steve crossed the room and took the chair beside the bed; the one Mr. Stark usually occupied during his waking hours.

“So,” Bucky sounded serious, his joking smile having evaporated. “You said Stark stayed up with you last night?” 

“Yeah, he alway s’does.” 

“Then I guess that answers the question you avoided earlier. You’re sleeping for crap.” The soldier stated it blatantly, leaving no room for denial. He had taken advantage of Peter’s dopey state to lead him into a trap. 

“Not fair.” Peter shot him a brief glare before turning his attention, instead, to his cuticles. He used his functional hand to begin picking at them. “I don’ wanna talk ‘bout that.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said, taking Peter’s hand and forcing his fingers away from his nail-beds. He’d recently taken to worrying them bloody when difficult thoughts invaded his mind, so he understood why Steve was making him stop. The only problem was that he flinched the moment the captain touched him, yanking his arm away and shying closer to Bucky on instinct. 

“S’rry!” he gasped instantly, starting to apologize before he’d even taken in the injured look on Steve’s face. “I’m...I did’n mean...I’m s’rry.” 

“You’re fine.” Steve’s features smoothed back into a calm expression, though he failed to conceal the hurt lingering in his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, resting both hands on his thighs in a gesture of non-confrontation. “It’s okay.” 

“But I don’...You…” Bucky’s hand was on his leg as he tried to stutter out a slurred explanation. He was mad at himself. Mad at his banging heart and suddenly shaking hands. He wanted Steve with him. In many ways, he needed him. It didn’t make sense that his damaged brain randomly told him to panic when the captain got too close. 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky said. 

Steve nodded in agreement. “Not at all. I’m not upset.” 

That was obviously a lie, but it was one Peter appreciated. “But I’m not...I wan’ you ‘ere.” 

“I know,” Steve said calmly. “That’s why I haven’t left. Just try to calm down.” 

“I’m s’rry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Steve said. “I promise, I understand. Everything is just fine.”

“S’not fine!” Peter surprised even himself when the words came out shouted. He hadn’t meant to yell at Steve. It was just that his frustration with the situation had begun boiling over. He’d spent so long delirious from illness, in unendurable pain, or simply terrified, that the anger was somewhat new. HYDRA had messed him up. They’d screwed with his mind to the point where he often didn’t feel safe, even with his own friends, and he tried not to think about the part of his brain that continued whispering that Fields was coming back for him. Knowing that his mind wasn’t right, while at the same time being clueless as to how to fix it, felt infuriating. 

He immediately regretted the outburst when he saw the looks of shock, and worse, worry, on the soldier’s faces. He was getting ready to apologize again when Mr. Stark appeared beside him. His hair was flattened on one side where he’d been sleeping on it, and his cheek was lined with impressions from the couch. Peter felt horrible for waking him, but the man didn’t look upset. “What’s goin’ on, bud?” 

“Nothin’. Jus’ go’ too loud. S’rry.” 

“Too loud about what?” Mr. Stark sounded calm, but Peter didn’t miss the way his gaze travelled between the soldiers. His eyebrows came together when he took in the way Peter was all but cowering against Bucky. He continued to tolerate their relationship, but it was obvious it caused him pain. 

“I touched him,” Steve said, making Peter cringe. He didn’t freak out every time the captain got too close, but it happened often enough that Mr. Stark had noticed. Peter wasn’t sure when, but he knew a conversation had occurred at some point because his mentor seemed to understand what had happened with Steve. The man became frigid with the captain any time Peter shied away from him, which really made the whole thing worse. Steve didn’t deserve to be punished. 

“My fault,” Peter said. 

“As far as I’m concerned it’s not going to be possible for anything to be your fault for the foreseeable future. We clear on that?” Whatever annoyance Mr. Stark was feeling with the soldiers didn’t enter his voice. He’d become a master at keeping himself collected around Peter, which was a little strange considering the man had never been known for his patience or tact. Peter had been shouted at more than once for his past mistakes during patrols or in the lab. He never took it too deeply to heart, because Mr. Stark had always gotten over it quickly. It was just strange to see him so poised when Peter could tell he was anything but. 

“If you ‘ay so.” 

“I do say so.” Mr. Stark glanced toward his watch before clapping his hands together. “You had lunch yet?” 

As relieved as Peter was by the change in subject, he wished the man had chosen a different topic. His mentor knew better than anyone that Dr. Banner had recently gotten pushy about Peter’s dietary habits. He still had several IVs that were running constant medication, fluids, and nutrients into his system, but the doctor had recently explained that, though it would keep him alive, obtaining 100% of his nutritional needs in liquid form would never get him back to a healthy weight. Apparently he’d gained back less than three pounds since returning to the compound, and he might have been a little more willing to eat if he ever felt hungry. The gnawing pains of starvation he’d experienced during his imprisonment were a thing of the past. He’d stopped thinking about food shortly into the torture, and the desire had yet to return. Dr. Banner blamed the drugs for his continued lack of appetite, saying that Peter would otherwise have been ravenous.

“Dr. ‘anner brough’ me brea’fast. Scram’led eggs.” 

“Mm hmm. And how much of said breakfast did you actually eat?” 

Shoot. The man knew him too well. His stare was unrelenting. “Uh...some?” Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. “None?” 

“That sounds about right. So what are we having for lunch? Anything that sounds good at all.” 

“I…” Peter was at a loss for words. Mr. Stark was still staring at him, as were Steve and Bucky. He hadn’t missed the frowns that appeared when they’d heard he skipped breakfast. “I’m really no’...” 

“Don’t you dare say you’re not hungry,” his mentor interrupted. “Not being hungry isn’t an option. Crème brulee is an option. White truffle pizza is an option. Freaking Wagyu beef is an option. Not eating is not an option.” 

“Waggy what beef?” Bucky asked the question Peter was thinking, and for once Mr. Stark didn’t give him a dirty look. Instead he just waved his hand dismissively. 

“Fancy Japanese steak. What’s it going to be, kid?”

Peter began nervously running his thumb across his blankets. “Umm...Maybe jus’...miso soup?” 

“Done. Anything else? Some sushi with that?” Peter wrinkled his nose. He used to love sushi, but at the moment even the thought of soup made him nauseous. “Okay, that’s a no. FRI, send out for a large order of miso soup.” 

The AI chimed her confirmation, and Peter sighed, shuffling further down against his pillows. There was no getting out of this; not with three Avengers babysitting him. Their constant hovering had landed somewhere between comforting and annoying. Peter just wasn’t sure if it leaned more one way than the other. 

“Getting sleepy?” Bucky asked, helping as the boy started to pull his blankets up a little higher. 

“Nah. No more ‘an usual.” Truthfully he was always tired, but he didn’t feel like closing his eyes. Sitting up had just become exhausting, and he was beginning to feel chilly. He was aware that was from the lingering fever, which wasn’t a big deal. He was getting better every day. 

“That’s good,” Mr. Stark said. “Food will be here soon, and you’re always grumpy when I wake you up.” 

“Am not,” Peter protested, knowing he was lying. He had a history of sleeping in on weekends he stayed over at the compound. He was mostly able to blame late nights in the lab and drinking fancy caramel lattes at three in the morning, both of which were habits his mentor had implored him not to copy. Peter always reminded him that imitation was the purest form of flattery, only to later eat his words when FRIDAY set off increasingly loud alarms the following mornings. 

“No, you’re right. My mistake. I must have imagined having a lamp thrown at my head.” 

“Tha’ was one time!” 

“Does that make it better?” 

“Maybe?” Mr. Stark chuckled at the uncertain response. In Peter’s defense, the lamp incident had come as a result of being shaken awake during a fairly intense dream. Not that the excuse had stopped him from being relentlessly mocked for months to come. 

“This sounds like a good story,” Steve said, attempting to join in on the lighter mood. He’d been quiet since Peter had shouted at him. 

“It’s not,” the boy mumbled. 

“I disagree,” Mr. Stark said. “I’ve got the scar to prove it.” He pointed to the small mark above his right eyebrow that had been there since before Peter had met him. 

“Liar.” 

The man laughed again. “Prove it.” 

Peter just let out an annoyed huff. The playful bickering was fun, but his brain was sludgy. On a normal day he would have already fired back, hammering his mentor with enough clever quips to have him stumbling for a comeback. It was the relationship they were both used to, but of course things couldn’t be normal anymore. They were trying, but Peter was still way too slow. His exasperation must have shown, because in a moment the spark disappeared from Mr. Stark’s eyes and the smile slid off his face. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” It was the truth. The situation sucked, but he was coping. 

The mood shifted after that, his companions realizing Peter had worn himself out with the brief back-and-forth. It got quiet until, out of apparent desperation, Mr. Stark picked up the discarded comic book and began reading the panels aloud. It had become fairy normal for Steve, Bucky, and Mr. Stark to be in the same room, but anytime there wasn’t a considerable distraction the tension between the men became almost palpable. Things remained particularly bad with his mentor and Bucky. The conversations between Mr. Stark and Steve felt strained, but at least there was an obvious effort being made on that front. The same courtesy had not been extended to Bucky. At best the soldier was mostly ignored, and at worst Mr. Stark sent him venomous looks or made the occasional snide comment. It was clear the man was making an effort to be civil, but once in a while he slipped and let his hatred show. Peter tried to be satisfied with the knowledge they were trying. The situation was uneasy, but all three men had set aside their personal issues in favor of keeping Peter comfortable. 

Peter eventually decided to let the stressful thoughts dissipate. Worrying about the relationship between his companions did nothing to help him relax, and with the drugs continuing to make him feel spacey, he lacked the energy to focus on anything for too long. He settled for listening to Mr. Stark’s recitation of the comic book, feeling himself smile at the man’s dreadful attempt at doing the character’s voices. It was only once FRIDAY informed them the food had arrived that Peter felt the return of tension. Dr. Banner was the one to deliver the steaming takeout container, and Mr. Stark only had to take one look at Peter’s paling reaction to his lunch before requesting Steve and Bucky leave them. The soldier’s didn’t object. 

The following argument was long and childish. Peter basically regressed into a stubborn toddler when the doctor and his mentor tried to make him eat. He struggled, fruitlessly, when they forced him into a seated position, and then nearly swiped the soup out of Dr. Banner’s hold with a jerk of his arm. He closed his eyes, kicked his legs, and muttered more than a few insults any time the men brought the spoon near his mouth. He could feel that he was pressing at their patience, but he couldn’t seem to make himself give in. The smell of the soup was making his stomach churn, and he really didn’t feel like puking his guts out. The pain was finally under control, and Peter was in no rush to start feeling poorly again. 

“Listen,” Mr. Stark finally got firm after a solid half hour, taking Peter’s shoulders and forcing the boy to look him in the eye. “This is happening, so stop being a brat.” 

That, coming from his hero, was finally enough to make him compliant. They ended up picking the spongy pieces of tofu out of the (now cold) soup before pouring the broth into a Styrofoam cup with a straw. Mr. Stark thrust the cup into Peter’s hand and refused to stop glaring at him until he’d taken several sips. His stomach bubbled in protest, but seemed to accept the meal. He drank half the soup before Mr. Stark let him quit, his features finally softening. “Was that so hard?” 

“Yes. But I’m s’rry an’way.” 

“I know you are, kid. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t give me headaches over the small stuff.” The words were berating, but he smiled as he said them, helping Peter lie back down as Dr. Banner did a quick check of his IVs. “Ready for a nap?” 

“Yeah.” His eyes were already falling closed. He felt at ease. There was something oddly comforting about having someone care enough about him to get bossy and call him names. It wasn’t the first time Peter had been accused of being a brat, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. That ridiculous thought made him give a tiny snort of laughter before passing out. Maybe recovery wasn’t so far away after all.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, you guys! It's been a long journey, but the final chapter is posted. I have loved writing this one, and that's largely because I've received more support and encouragement than I ever would have believed possible. The fact that you guys want to read (let alone share your thoughts!) on my writing has left me floored time and again. There is such a wonderful community here, and I've felt so supported and encouraged by each and every one of you. A handful of you have even been leaving me feedback after every single chapter, and I can't tell you what that means to me. You've been my cheerleaders the whole way through, and I love you for it! To all of my readers, thank you, thank you, thank you! 
> 
> All that being said, I am currently working on a continuation of this story. Part 2 is entitled, Fissures, and I'm posting chapter 1 immediately after this. I'm excited to be continuing this adventure! 
> 
> Just a final note: It has recently been brought to my attention that some of my stories have been copy/pasted onto various other sites. Just want you guys to know that all of my writing is posted (at least by me) on here alone. Not a huge deal, just thought I'd send you all a heads up. Thanks!

“See how much better they work when I’m in charge of the design?” 

Steve chuckled at Peter’s enthusiasm, standing beside Bucky in one of the compound’s larger training rooms. The kid had insisted both soldiers join him once he’d been given the okay to begin resuming his normal activities, and Peter was currently swinging gracefully from the rafters. He’d shown no interest in donning his spider suit (not even when Tony had presented him with a brand new model complete with a surplus of added safety features), but had been content enough to slap his web shooters onto his wrists. 

“Definitely an improvement!” Bucky called. 

Steve leaned to the side, bumping his friend with his shoulder. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Tell me about it.” They both paused, grinning as Peter performed an impressive series of twirling flips. 

“He hardly seems like the same kid.” 

“He’s the same,” Bucky said. “He just got lost for a while.” 

“He wasn’t the only one.” 

That got no response; not that it warranted one. Though their friends offered a nearly overwhelming amount of support, no one would ever fully understand what Steve, Bucky, and Peter had gone through. Their physical injuries had healed in the three weeks since Peter’s final surgery, the only exceptions being a few permanent scars and the fingers on the kid’s right hand occasionally locking up on him. The mental wounds went deeper. Steve thought there was a good chance those would never go away entirely, but he tried to focus on the progress that had been made. Seeing Peter this way, watching him laugh and launch his body through open air, was a miracle in itself. 

Once they were able to combat the infection from Peter’s burns it had only taken a little more than a week for him to kick the fever. He’d remained initially reluctant when it came to getting back on a normal diet, but Tony had Bruce had worked with him (Strange having returned to his wizardly duties once it became clear Peter was no longer in danger) until he’d gained back enough weight for his healing factor to return to action. From there he’d been able to get off the pain meds and call his aunt. Peter and Tony had fed her some story about a car accident, and the kid had spent the previous week and a half under her strict care back in their Queens apartment. Today was the first he’d talked her into a return trip to the compound.

Another fifteen or so minutes passed, both soldiers enjoying watching Peter continuing to show off, before Tony entered the room. He came to stand beside Steve and Bucky, crossing his arms and staring toward the spiraling kid. He’d abandoned the wrinkled clothes and overgrown facial hair in favor of his usual suit jacket and sculpted goatee. He spoke without looking at them. “I told him not to push himself.” 

“Oh?” Steve wasn’t sure what to say. The entire time Peter had been staying with his aunt, Tony hadn’t spoken three words to either of the soldiers. He’d invited them, through Natasha, to stay at the compound, but had very obviously been avoiding them. A long stretch of silence passed before Tony turned to face the men. He let out a slow breath before opening his mouth. 

“Thank you.” 

That’s not what Steve had been expecting. “For what?” 

He raised a hand toward Peter, who seemed entirely unaware that Tony had even entered the room. “For him. I think I’ve heard most of what happened in that place, and the way he clings to you...I just...I’m not sure we’d be watching this right now if you hadn’t been with him. So thank you.” He swallowed and dragged his gaze to Bucky. “Both of you.” 

Bucky held the stare, his eyes sincere. “You’re welcome.” 

Tony then surprised them further, extending his right hand and giving Steve a firm handshake. He even threw in an affectionate pat on the shoulder. He next gave Bucky’s hand a brief, unexpected pump as well. Afterwards he cleared his throat, turning back to Peter. “So are we a team again, or what?”

Steve grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

“Good, because the fuckwits who tortured my kid are still out there, and I’m not going to sleep easy until that changes.” 

Steve agreed, but there was something he needed to know. This wasn’t the first time Tony had referred to Peter in such a way, and he’d seen how the boy begged for and attached himself to the man both during and after their captivity. There was a tight bond between the two; something that made them both vulnerable in a way they weren’t with anyone else. Steve blurted the question before he could talk himself out of it. “Is Peter your son?” 

He heard Bucky gasp at the same time Tony swung on him, but the man didn’t look annoyed. “I wish.” 

“So that’s a no?” 

“Only if you’re talking legally.” 

That was answer enough. Tony had no claim to Peter, but the kid obviously owned an important place in his heart. Steve wasn’t convinced Peter hadn’t chiseled out similar places in him and Bucky. The kid was something special. 

“About this team business?” Bucky brought the topic back to where it needed to be. 

“You willing to hunt down HYDRA?” Tony asked. 

“It’s what I do best.” 

“Then you’re on the team.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said, and he meant it. 

“You’re still both assholes. And if you even think about censoring my language I’m taking back everything I just said.” 

Steve threw him a salute. “Captain Asshole, reporting for duty.” 

Tony laughed. “You’re an idiot.” He turned to where Peter was scuttling across the ceiling and raised his voice. “Hey, Pete, remember when you promised me you’d only do this for ten minutes?” 

Peter’s head snapped in their direction before his face broke into a grin. He swung back to the ground before bouncing up in front of his mentor. “Mr. Stark, when’d you get here?” 

“Uh, I live here?” 

Peter groaned. “You know what I meant.” 

“Oh, as in this lovely training room where I told you not to overwork yourself? Long enough to know you didn’t listen.” 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, only looking a little guilty. “I guess I did kinda get carried away.” 

“Use that big brain next time.” Tony flicked the side of the boy’s head as he said it. “Now come eat. I’m still trying to put some meat back on those chicken legs.” 

“Ooo, chicken sounds good!” 

“We can have chicken.” Tony draped an arm across Peter’s shoulders and began to steer him from the room. 

“Pizza too? And tacos? And ice cream? Oh, and what about those little pies from that place…” 

“Whatever you want, kid,” Tony interrupted, laughing again at the excited ramble. “But if we’re ordering that much we might need some help.” 

“Help?” 

Tony craned his neck to where they’d left the super soldiers standing behind them. “Rogers, Barnes, you joining us? Peter wants a smorgasbord and we’ll probably need some big appetites to get through it.” 

Steve watched Peter light up, staring at his mentor in disbelief. He smiled himself, seeing Bucky do the same, before answering for them both. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

On the way up to the kitchen, all four of them riding in the same elevator without animosity or awkwardness, Steve realized they had a fifteen-year-old to thank for the reassembling of the Avengers. Peter asked for nothing, but the captain made a mental promise then and there that he would lead the team in a strike against HYDRA. No matter how long it took, Earth's heroes would see the downfall of those who thought they could get away with breaking Peter Parker. Tony, Steve, and Bucky would put in the time and effort necessary to piece Peter back together, and Iron Man, Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and the rest of the Avengers would make right what had happened to Spider Man. That was a guarantee.


End file.
